


the last act of the show

by vvelna



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 05:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvelna/pseuds/vvelna
Summary: Phil has made a living from faking relationships for nearly a decade. His new client is an actor named Dan Howell.





	the last act of the show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [symmetricdnp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetricdnp/gifts).



> happy birthday!! a little bird told me you like fake dating fics...i hope you like this one :P
> 
> (and thank you @insectbah for beta reading)

“This is my boyfriend, Phil.”

They both smile widely, and Dan snakes an arm around Phil’s waist, giving him a little squeeze. Phil tries not to flinch. They’d discussed their boundaries at length, and Dan’s touch is well within the bounds of the public physical contact they’d both agreed to.

But it still feels weird. No matter how many times Phil has pretended to be with a stranger, the first few public outings always make him a little uncomfortable. 

He’s already forgotten the name of the woman he’s just been introduced to. It’s not her fault; she seems nice. But he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see her again, and he’s more preoccupied with pretending to be happily in love with a stranger.

Phil is standing next to a man he’s known for little more than a week, and only in a professional capacity. And that man has his large palm resting right above Phil’s hip, hot through the fabric of his shirt. He can smell his cologne—a little too woodsy for Phil’s tastes—and his loud, fake laugh rings in his ears.

Dan Howell. Twenty-seven. Up-and-coming actor. Only indie films so far, but one of them had won some awards at a semi-prestigious festival, and there were rumors of a major motion picture role with his name on it. Phil had watched a few of his films after the agency he works for was contacted by Dan’s people. Or rather, he had watched Dan’s scenes because he found most of the films unbearably dull and pretentious. But Dan was captivating. He was handsome and talented. Phil could see why people liked him.

Ten days ago they’d sat across from each other at a glossy wooden table in a conference room at the agency. Phil sat between his manager, Grace, and the head of the agency’s legal department, Moira, while Dan was flanked by his agent and manager. 

The contract was discussed in minute detail. Phil would be acting as Dan’s partner for five months. There was a hefty upfront payment, and then another to be paid when the contract was closed. Dan and his team were responsible for all expenses relating to events Phil was required to attend with Dan, such as food, travel, and clothing. There was a nondisclosure agreement; Dan and everyone who worked with him that was in the know would never be allowed to discuss the details of the relationship. Then there was a section listing all of the things Phil would not do as part of their arrangement. Some of it was agency wide rules (e.g. no sexual contact), and some of it was Phil’s specific stipulations (e.g. the client cannot be in a genuine romantic and/or sexual relationship with someone for the duration of the arrangement).

First Moira read each document aloud. Then Dan’s manager read it to herself, and finally Dan read them (or at least pretended to) and then signed. Some of the documents had to be signed by everyone at the table, which took even more time. Phil went through the whole thing on autopilot. There was nothing particularly special about this gig, besides Dan’s minor fame. Attend some events—both scheduled appearances and casual outings made to imply they were a couple. Agree to appear in any photos Dan chose to share on social media, or that were taken with or without their knowledge at events attended. Public physical contact to the extent of what might be expected to sell the idea of them being a couple. Nothing major.

They hadn’t had a conversation alone yet. They’d shared names and shaken hands. Phil knew Dan had read his agency profile and specifically requested him. That was a month ago. While the details were worked out, Phil had done his own research into Dan, but they were otherwise complete strangers.

The agency provided clients with partners for fake relationships. Sometimes for just one date, sometimes for months of subterfuge. Phil started working for them when he was twenty-two, and he’s thirty-one now. Almost ten years of charades and facades. It wasn’t as seedy as it sounded. At least he liked to think so. Phil was good at his job because he was friendly. He didn’t like conflict or tension. He got along with people easily. Some people wanted their fake partner to be as docile and agreeable as possible, and Phil fit the bill. For people who wanted someone willing to act a little wilder—say, stage a full-on screaming match in the middle of a family restaurant—well, there were people in the agency who excelled at that too.

The meeting wrapped up and everyone but Dan and Phil left the room.

They were finally alone. Phil regarded Dan. He’d pulled out his phone and his eyes were fixed to it. He reminded Phil more of a sullen teenager than an adult man in that moment. This was their first real chance to talk and he was ignoring Phil? The next five months were going to be rough.

“So…”

Dan looked up. He almost seemed surprised that Phil had spoken to him.

“We’re officially pretending to date each other…maybe we should pretend to get to know each other? Or are we already at the ignoring each other stage of our failing relationship?”

Dan smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, this is all so fucking weird. I have no idea how to act around you.”

“Well, there’s no one watching us right now, so you can just be yourself.”

He snorted “Oh yeah, and is that what you’re gonna do? Be yourself?”

Phil shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Let’s save the acting for when we need it.”

“Alright…fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“May I ask why you requested to work with a man?”

“Why not?” Dan asked. His tone was casual, almost flippant. “That a problem for you? Working with a man?”

“No, of course not. I work with people of any gender.”

“Guess you wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of signing all that shit if you weren’t okay with it.”

Phil didn’t mention that he was gay, because his own sexuality really had nothing to do with their arrangement. Pretending to date Dan would be an experience just as void of actual feelings as any of his assignments with women. He was mildly curious about Dan’s orientation—whether he was actually attracted to men or if there was some other motivation. A publicity stunt, perhaps. He knew from the research he’d done that Dan’s only public relationships had been with women. But all of that was none of Phil’s business. Neither of them owed the other that kind of information.

Dan hadn’t actually answered the question, just countered it with one of his own, but Phil decided to let it go.

“Okay, next question. What are three things you couldn’t live without? And don’t say food, water, and air, alright?”

“Uh, well. One: food.”

“I just said you can’t say food!”

“Not for survival—for pleasure. I love food, okay? Eating makes me feel alive. A good meal is like…a religious experience.”

“Okay, fine. That’s fair. Two more.”

“Laughter. Kinda self-explanatory, right?”

“Okay. Number three?”

“Sex.”

He looked Phil dead in the eyes with an uncomfortable intensity and the smallest smirk on his lips. That was the only reason why Phil suddenly felt flustered. Nothing about Dan saying he enjoyed sex was actually shocking.

“Alright then. Food, laughter, and sex. Take them away and you defeat Dan Howell.”

Dan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

“Yeah, well, you’re already a third of the way there thanks to your no relationships rule.”

“Well, technically you can still have sex. You just can’t date or be in a relationship with anyone.”

“I’m not really a one and done kind of guy.”

“Sorry. I’m sure you’ll find some way to get through this.”

“Yeah, I have a couple ideas.”

He cracked his knuckles and Phil winced.

“Okay, your turn. What are your three things?” he asked.

“You can’t ask me the same question. You have to ask a different one.”

“What the fuck? Says who?”

“Says me and I make the rules.”

“Alright. Bossy.” Dan waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Phil roll his eyes.

He leaned forward in his chair, hands folded on the table.

“Here’s my question: What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you because of this job?”

Phil considered his options. He could tell Dan what he considers to be the actual worst thing that happened to him. It wasn’t that bad in the grand scheme of things. Or he could go with something funnier and keep the mood light. He decides to be honest.

“There was this guy….I wasn’t working with him; I was with his ex-girlfriend. Except she got back together with him without telling me. And then he thought she was cheating on him with me, and he didn’t react very well.”

“What did he do?”

“He got my number from her phone and called all the time. He’d leave these really threatening voicemails about how he was going to kill me and whatnot.”

Luckily the client had been able to convince her boyfriend that Phil was just a friend. A gay friend she was bearding for, which was a hilarious lie—or would have been, in any other circumstance. Needless to say the assignment was ended early. Phil was just glad they hadn’t needed to take any more serious steps.

“Fuck. Is that why you have the no-relationships clause?”

“One of the reasons.”

“You must deal with jealous exes all the time though?”

“Yes. And sometimes making the ex jealous is the whole reason I’m hired. But usually we know all the details of the situation and we can decide whether or not a certain job is safe. It’s when people lie about stuff that things go wrong.”

“Okay. No lies. Got it.”

Dan’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and read the name of the person calling him.

“Shit. I gotta go. I’m late for an appointment. I’ll get in touch about the party this weekend. See ya, Phil.”

And just like that he rushed out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. Phil sat at the table, contemplating what he’d gotten himself into.

Dan was the most high-profile client Phil has ever worked with. Grace had warned him that working with Dan could be career suicide. When their contract ended, Phil wouldn’t be able to just go back to being an unassuming nobody people brought as their plus-one to weddings or class reunions. He’d forever be Dan Howell’s Ex-Boyfriend. But Phil didn’t want to be in this line of work forever. As much as it embarrassed him, he wanted real love. A genuine relationship, where he didn’t have to fake a thing. And he didn’t think he could juggle something like that with the demands of being anyone’s pretend paramour.

So this time he was going to let Dan call him by his real first name, because what did he have to lose? And all his previous clients had signed nondisclosure agreements with hefty financial penalties when they hired him, so hopefully they’d all keep their mouths shut. He wasn’t too worried about being recognized by someone he’d helped dupe. It had never happened before. And plenty of people looked alike. If anyone thought he looked familiar, it would probably play out like, “Hey, that guy in the photo with Dan Howell kind of looks like that guy Jack brought to Aunt Laura’s fifth wedding.”

The job might be a challenge, but Phil was a professional. He could handle it.

He made his way to the breakroom. He sighed in relief when he saw there was only one person inside. It was Aisling, the only coworker Phil considered a friend. They regularly swapped stories about clients and endlessly texted each other memes.

She was eating a tuna fish sandwich with the crusts cut off. She was between assignments and spending a lot of time hanging around the office instead of out in the field. She and Phil sometimes called it “the field” because they liked to talk about their work like they were secret agents.

“Hello, Aisling.”

“Hello, Philbert. How’s the new meat?”

“I hate when you talk about them like that.”

“Sorry.”

She pushed out a chair for him with her foot. He took a seat across from her at the round table.

Aisling was twenty-four to Phil’s thirty-one. She had been working at the agency since she was nineteen. Phil would never admit this to her, but he sometimes thought of her as a little sister. She was certainly bratty enough when she wanted to be.

Unlike Phil, Aisling had no desire for a romantic relationship. She’d once said to him, “I could do this fake shit forever. But once I turn thirty men will probably stop requesting me.”

“So, what’s he like? The actor.”

Phil shrugged and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. He began peeling it slowly while he considered his first real interaction with Dan.

“I dunno. I think he’s nice. And funny. Maybe a little pretentious. I’m not getting any warning signals, but sometimes the ones that seem nice turn out to be the biggest assholes.”

“Do you think he likes guys?”

“I can’t really figure that out. He was kind of flirty, but I doubt there was any genuine feeling behind it. Probably just another straight guy patting himself on the back for pushing his own boundaries.”

“You’re so judgmental, Phil,” she said, not sounding the least bit bothered.

“At least I didn’t call him meat.”

She shrugged. “We’re all meat here. Just flesh vessels playing at human connection.”

“God, sometimes I really hate talking to you.”

Phil loved Aisling, but sometimes she could be annoyingly cynical, and even mean. Maybe Phil was just too sensitive.

He didn’t want to talk about Dan anymore, so he tried to change the subject.

“What about you? Have any good prospects?”

“No. Business is slow for this old broad.”

Phil rolled his eyes.

“You’re literally a baby.”

“And you’re a decrepit old man. Good thing hot young starlets like Dan Howell are into that kind of thing.”

Phil sighed and ate his banana.

*

Now he’s attending his first public event with Dan. Phil thinks the party they’re at has something to do with one of his films, but he can’t quite remember and doesn’t care enough to ask. There’s probably only about a hundred people in attendance, which Phil thinks is still too many. He hates crowds of strangers, but he spends an awful lot of his time in the midst of them. Pretending to be someone he’s not helps ease the anxiety. He’s just playing a role, and then he’ll be gone and none of it matters.

The party’s being held on an open-air terrace. There’s lush green grass dotted with “rustic” tables and chairs and tall plants in mosaic pots. Music is playing from somewhere, but Phil can’t see the source. The volume is just low enough that he can’t figure out if he recognizes the song playing or not, which aggravates him.

After introducing Phil to a few people and engaging in quick, meaningless conversation, Dan guides him through the crowd with a hand on his lower back. He smiles at people and calls out hellos, but doesn’t stop to talk. He removes his hand when they reach their destination.

“Here we are,” he says quietly, so only Phil can hear. “The only reason I come to these things.”

There’s a table before them, covered end to end with all things buttery and flaky. The savory aroma of meat, vegetables, herbs, and spices hovers in the air. Dan grabs a plate and starts piling food on top.

“Later we can hit up the dessert table,” he says, cocking his head in the direction of another table a short distance away.

Phil spots a chocolate fountain and a pyramid of cupcakes. He resists the urge to abandon Dan and make a beeline for it.

He doesn’t bother grabbing his own plate, because Dan’s amassed more than enough food for both of them, presuming he intends to share.

They wind up sitting on a low brick wall, hidden away in a corner behind some tall and leafy plants. Dan puts the plate between them, picks up some kind of puff pastry, and pops the whole thing in his mouth.

He moans and his eyes roll back in his head as he chews.

“That good?”

He swallows. “Amazing.” He picks up another of the same pastry and offers it to Phil. “You’ve got to try this.”

Phil eyes it suspiciously. He can see something pale yellow oozing up out of the slits in the dough.

“Has it got a lot of cheese in it?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing. Come on, try it.”

He holds the pastry up and moves it closer to Phil’s face, like he’s going to feed him. Phil pulls back and looks down his nose at it.

“I don’t like cheese.”

Dan lowers his hand and his mouth drops open.

“Who doesn’t like _cheese?_ ”

“Me. It tastes gross.”

Dan shakes his head and drops the pastry back down on the pile.

“I dunno if this is gonna work out, mate. We might have to break up.”

Phil snorts and reaches for a different pastry. He gives it a sniff before nibbling one of the corners. It’s filled with some kind of spicy paste, a bit like a curry. Not a hint of cheese.

“So does that mean you don’t like pizza either? Because I don’t think I can date someone who hates pizza. It’s like…immoral.”

Phil looks over his shoulder and then leans in closer to Dan. There’s no one within hearing distance of them, especially over the noise of the music and various conversations, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

“First of all, you know we’re not really dating right? I’m concerned you may have fallen for me already. And I love pizza.”

Dan scoffs. “But it’s covered in cheese! And don’t worry, you’re not _that_ cute.”

Phil considers what “ _that_ cute” means. Does Dan think he’s cute, then? Just not _that_ cute. Well, of course Dan must think he’s attractive enough to want to be seen with him and have people believe they’re in a relationship. He decides to focus on the cheese.

“Yeah, but…it’s different. If you put enough toppings on it the cheese is overpowered. The enemy is defeated.”

“Whatever you say, you cheese-hating freak.”

They eat the entire plate, Dan taking care of most everything with cheese, except a few morsels Dan insists Phil try because, “You can barely taste it. It’s like low-saturation cheese.” Phil relents and has to admit Dan’s right.

Phil goes a little wild at the dessert table, feeling the need to take advantage of all the options available to be covered in chocolate.

“I dare you to put a shrimp in that,” Dan whispers. Phil makes a show of gagging at the idea of sticking a cold cocktail shrimp under the flowing curtain of chocolate.

“I’m going to feel so sick after this,” he says, slowly rotating one last strawberry on a stick under the chocolate, before following Dan back to their spot on the wall.

“It’ll all be worth it in the end,” Dan says when they sit down.

“Oh yeah?”

“Trust me, you’d feel sicker if you spent the night talking to some of the people here.”

Dan’s staring down at a little piece of cake dripping chocolate and Phil can’t properly see his eyes, but something in his tone makes Phil think he’s not joking.

He holds up the bit of cake and smiles at Phil. “Open wide.”

Phil doesn’t think about it. He just opens his mouth as wide as he can, scrunching up his nose and fixing his eyes on the prey. Dan pops the cake in his mouth and laughs.

“You looked so _intense._ ”

Phil chews and swallows the mouthful of cake before replying. “Well, yeah, I was kind of thinking like, you were the mother eagle, depositing a mouse in my mouth.”

Dan leans back and laughs loudly.

“You’re such a strange person!”

Phil’s face is suddenly hot and he looks down at the plate. He must be embarrassed from behaving so weirdly in front of someone like Dan. Someone famous who’s paying him, that is.

“This is what you signed up for,” he says. “Should’ve read the fine print on the contract.”

“This _isn’t_ what I signed up for, but it’s better. I thought you’d be a total bore.”

So Phil’s not _that_ cute, but he’s also not a total bore. He’ll take it. And if he can make Dan laugh like that, his whole body taken with the motion, then he’s more than doing his job right.

And Dan is pretty fun to be around, he has to admit. Phil’s dealt with all kind of clients. He’s been through painfully awkward situations, humiliating mishaps, and conversations so boring he wished he could stream movies on the back of his eyeballs for a little entertainment. Some people were pleasant, but few people were genuinely fun. Sure, he got taken to cool places sometimes. Festivals and amusement parks and even a behind the scenes tour at the London Zoo once. But the fun was in the experiences themselves, not the people he experienced them with. All he was doing now was sitting on a wall eating too much food and talking about nothing, and he was having a great time.

They talk some more and each have a glass of champagne when a waiter passes by their hideout. Then Dan suggests they leave. Phil is more than happy to agree with him. They say quick goodbyes as they make their way through the crowd to the entrance of the establishment. There’s a car there waiting for them. The driver’s going to drop Phil off first, and then presumably take Dan home.

They don’t talk on the ride to Phil’s building, and Phil’s fine with that. He’s exhausted. Not so much from talking to Dan, but from the stress of the whole evening. He thinks he’s done well. They hadn’t interacted much with anyone at the party, but hopefully he was convincing enough. If anyone had spotted them sitting alone, well, that was a pretty coupley thing to do, wasn’t it? It would have been suspicious for them to have ignored each other the whole evening—even if that’s what plenty of other couples at the party had probably done.

Phil wonders how Dan behaved publicly with his past partners. He hadn’t been relevant enough during most of those relationships for there to be much gossip online. There were pictures from his Instagram circulating on the internet, and some discussion amongst fans, but nothing that really gave Phil insight into how he and any one of his girlfriends might have spent their time at a party like the one he’d just attended. Did Dan hide away with them? Or did he only do that with Phil because it was harder to keep up appearances with someone you didn’t really love? Or because Phil is a man…

He decides to stop thinking about Dan entirely. He’s off the clock. The driver drops him off outside of his building and he exchanges polite goodbyes with Dan—who looks quite tired, like he might fall asleep in the back of the car.

Back in his flat, Phil changes into pajamas, makes some toast, and curls up on his sofa to watch a bit of TV before bed. He pushes Dan out of his mind completely.

*

They have their first casual outing a few days later. It’s just a date at a local cafe. Not even a date, really. Just two people in a relationship getting coffee on a Saturday. But Phil feels weirdly nervous as he gets ready.

He frets over what to wear and spends more time than necessary artfully styling his quiff. He opts to forego contacts and just wear his glasses. He has a slight headache and figures that the glasses add to the whole “just casually grabbing coffee with the boyfriend” vibe.

The knowledge that Dan could be recognized or even approached by a fan while they’re out in public is distressing. London is a big city and Dan’s only slightly famous, but it could still happen. And that’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it? They wouldn’t be spending time together in public if they weren’t trying to make sure that if they _are_ seen, it’s evidence of their relationship.

There’s a higher possibility that they’ll run into someone Phil knows, because the cafe isn’t too far from his building. He’s never been, but apparently Dan goes there regularly. Because apparently Dan lives quite close to Phil. That’s another thing troubling him. It’s all a coincidence; Dan had no idea where Phil lived when he hired him. But Phil doesn’t like having to work so close to home. He barely knows anyone in his building or in the neighborhood, but that doesn’t mean no one will recognize him in public. Only his close friends and family know what he really does for a living. The added pressure of having to maintain his act around people he’ll probably continue to cross paths with long after him and Dan have “broken up” worries him.

He’s already stressing about the future, when the contract’s up and Dan’s out of his life. Because what is he going to tell people going forward? Specifically anyone he wants to pursue a relationship with. He’s lied about his job to everyone else he’s dated. He always keeps people at a distance. But lying doesn’t seem like a good foundation for something serious and long-term. He wishes there was someone at work he could develop feelings for. Someone who would just understand without him having to explain. But the only person there he actually likes is Aisling, so it’s a fantasy that will go unfulfilled.

It’s just coffee. He takes a deep breath and puts on a jacket and shoes. He grabs his phone and texts Dan.

_heading out now. be there in 10_

He waits for a minute and gets no reply. Maybe Dan is still getting ready, or he’s on the move and didn’t notice. Or he’s one of those annoying people who doesn’t reply to messages unless he absolutely has to. Phil hasn’t asked him a question, but he’d still appreciate the reassurance of a response. Even a simple _k_ would suffice.

No more stalling. He heads out.

*

Dan’s late. Phil snags a corner table. He doesn’t have coffee yet, because it seems rude not to wait for Dan. Although, it’s also rude of Dan to make him wait. He’d better show up. Phil doesn’t want to be stood up even if it is a fake date. There are many fun things he could be doing instead of waiting for Dan. Like sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, eyes glued to the television and one hand buried in a bowl of popcorn.

The cafe’s not crowded. There’s just enough people there that it’s not awkward for him to be sitting alone. There’s other solitary patrons, sipping coffee or tea while they type away at their laptops or flip pages in their books. Phil is a bit of an odd one out, sitting alone without a drink and just his phone. He knows no one is actually looking at him. They’re all occupied with their own lives—reading, writing, talking, and making drinks. But he can’t shake the feeling that there must be at least one person judging him. Someone pondering why he’s sitting awkwardly all by himself. Someone wondering when he’s going to stop taking up space at a table and order something. Someone thinking the triceratops jumper he’s wearing looks childish. Maybe he should just leave. But walking out after sitting there for nearly twenty minutes alone and doing nothing almost seems more embarrassing than staying put. He might as well get a coffee.

The door to the café swings open and in walks Dan. He looks flustered. His curls are fluffy and windblown and his cheeks are pink. His eyes sweep the café and land on Phil. He smiles and starts to weave his way between the tables.

Phil smiles back even though he’s annoyed, just in case anyone’s watching. Besides being annoyed he’s also relieved. And maybe a bit pleased to see Dan looking rather good in tight black jeans with rips that go all the way up his thighs. Phil doesn’t work with people he finds attractive often. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the view when he does.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I overslept and then my shower takes ages to heat up but I didn’t want to come here looking like a disgusting rat but I’d rather die than take a cold shower, I dunno about you.”

He says it all in one breath as he drops into his chair.

“That’s alright. I haven’t been here long,” Phil lies.

“But then I didn’t have time to sort my hair out properly and now it looks like _this._ ” He gestures toward his hair and makes a disgusted face

“I think it looks cute,” says Phil. It kind of makes him think of a giant puppy. Some kind of fluffy dog. Spaniel Howell. Phil’s glad Dan can’t read his mind.

“Thank you. You look good in glasses. Very distinguished.”

“Thanks.”

They stop talking. Phil’s not sure what to say next. They can’t have hit a dead end in the conversation already. It was so easy to talk to Dan at the party the other day.

“So. What do you want?” says Dan, after a good thirty seconds of silence. “I’m paying, of course. Since this was my idea and I made you wait. And I’m contractually obligated.”

Phil glances at the specials board on the wall by the counter. He’d noticed a few tempting offerings there when he’d arrived at the cafe.

“Uh, a caramel triple chocolate latte with whipped cream, please. Medium. And a scone.”

Dan looks at him, aghast. He puts his hand over his heart.

“There’s too much sugar in that. You’re going to die.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Dan shakes his head and stands up.

“I’m not responsible for whatever happens.”

Phil watches him make his way toward the counter. He’s got a bit of a self-conscious walk, like he’s overly aware of his height and the space he takes up. His posture is terrible. Not that Phil has any right to judge, but he finds it interesting to compare Dan’s ordinary body language to that of his films. In films Dan uses his body as an extension of his characters. When he plays someone confident, he straightens his back, let’s his chin tilt up. For someone less self-assured, he folds inward—back slightly bent, arms kept close to his body. Phil’s not sure what Dan’s natural posture says about his personality. Maybe it doesn’t say anything profound or revealing at all. Maybe, much like Phil, he’s just a tall guy who spends way too much time slouching on a sofa.

Dan returns, carrying a tray with two mugs, a scone, and a croissant. It’s obvious which drink is Phil’s. The tower of whipped cream topped with a caramel drizzle is a dead giveaway.

“Well, what did you get?”

Probably black coffee. Espresso. Vodka.

He sets the tray down and pulls back his chair. It squeaks on the floor, and Phil glances around. No one in the cafe is paying any attention to them.

“Um. Hot chocolate.”

“Excuse me? And you mocked me for my sugary drink?”

“This is totally different. It’s a dark chocolate cherry cocoa. Very sophisticated. Probably a million calories less than yours.”

“Whatever, Trevor.”

Phil grabs a spoon off the tray and scoops up some of the whipped cream from his drink. He’s going to have to dig if he ever wants to taste the actual coffee.

“Who the fuck says, ‘Whatever, Trevor’?” says Dan, clearly fighting to suppress a laugh.

“Me. Be nice.”

He puts the spoon in his mouth. A bit of the cream doesn’t make it inside, instead decorating his upper lip and edging toward the tip of his nose.

“You’ve got some…on your lip.”

“Whoops.”

Dan’s eyes seem to stay focused intently on Phil’s mouth as he runs his tongue along his upper lip, his own lips parted just slightly. Phil feels a bit of a flush creeping up his neck. Dan is just too good looking; Phil’s brain is making him read into the most benign looks.

Dan laughs then, as his eyes travel upward.

“Oh my god, you actually got some on the tip of your nose, too.”

Phil properly blushes now, from embarrassment. He tries to grab a napkin off the tray, but Dan beats him to it. He leans across the table and swipes the napkin over Phil’s nose a few times.

“I feel like a mum wiping her kid’s nose,” he says, crumpling up the napkin and sitting back.

“Thanks, Mum,” Phil mutters.

He uses his spoon to deflate the rest of the whipped cream, stirring it into the coffee. He lifts his mug and takes his first sip. It really is quite sweet. Phil loves sweet, but it might be a bit much even for him. Of course he’s going to drink the entire thing without complaining. He can’t let Dan win.

Dan tries his own drink. He moans under his breath and puts the mug back down on the table, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back.

“Do you have to do that in public?” Phil asks. “There are children in here.”

“I can’t have sex thanks to you,” he whispers sternly, leaning in toward Phil again. “Let me enjoy this.”

Phil takes a big gulp of his drink to avoid replying to Dan. He doesn’t know whether he wants to curl up in an embarrassed ball or laugh his head off.

They engage in meaningless small talk for a few minutes, while they enjoy their drinks and pastries. Then Dan finishes his croissant and goes quiet, running a finger along the rim of his mug.

Phil doesn’t mind the silence. He’s finally a few gulps away from the bottom of his drink. He’s pretty sure his blood has been replaced with chocolate and caramel.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Dan asks, looking up to meet Phil’s eyes for a moment before letting his gaze drop back down to the table.

A query like that from a client would normally put Phil on edge. But there’s something about Dan that puts him at ease. He doesn’t feel like he’s being tested or judged. He remembers a client who asked him if he’d ever fucked for money. Another who wanted to know what brand of childhood trauma had led to his career choice. And the slimy man who asked if he’d ever masturbated to the thought of him. Invasive, awful questions. He’s confident that Dan won’t ask anything like that, unless he’s sorely misjudged his character.

“Sure…but I might not answer.”

“That’s fine. I’m just curious about—well, have you ever dated a man? Not for a job.”

Phil finds the wording of Dan’s question interesting. He’s not asking for his sexuality, just his experiences. The two don’t always align. But it’s harmless and he feels safe enough with Dan to be honest.

“Yeah, I have. I’ve dated men.”

Dan nods. He looks like he’s deeply mulling over the information Phil’s just given him.

“What about women?”

“Well, I had a girlfriend for about two weeks in sixth form, if that counts,” Phil says with a laugh.

One corner of Dan’s mouth twitches up.

“Although, I’ve pretended to date a lot of women. So many lesbians in need of fake boyfriends for visits with their sweet, bigoted grandma.”

Dan properly smiles then, his dimple caving in.

His curiosity must be satisfied, because he changes the subject to television shows. The conversation that follows feels like one Phil might have with any of his friends. He lets himself get comfortable. He appreciates these moments, when he’s with a client and he doesn’t have to worry about every word he says because the topic of conversation gives nothing away. The cafe is now bustling with customers, though, and if no one could hear Dan and him earlier, they certainly can’t now. But it’s nice to feel at ease. It doesn’t feel like small talk either, just like at the party. Their words flow smoothly and without any stilted pauses.

They sit at the table for a good twenty minutes after finishing their drinks. Phil thinks he can see a few of the baristas behind the counter eyeing them with annoyance.

“I think we should go.”

“Are you bored of me already?” Dan asks.

“I just think we might be overstaying our welcome. It’s getting busier and we’ve been hogging this table forever.”

Dan sighs dramatically.

“ _Fine._ If you’ve had enough, I guess we can go. I’ll set you free.”

Phil stands up, reaching for the tray.

“Wait!” Dan cries, grabbing his wrist. “There’s one more things we need to do.”

Phil stares at Dan’s hand until he releases him.

“What?”

Dan pulls his phone out of his pocket and waves it around.

“Instagram. Need a cute couple pic.”

Dan instructs Phil to hold his mug up in front of his face like he’s about to take a sip, while Dan holds his aloft with a big grin.

“But our mugs are empty.”

“Yeah, just tilt it so you can’t tell.”

Dan shifts his chair around the table till he’s close to Phil, and they both lean in toward each other without discussing it. Dan stretches out his arm and snaps a few pics. Phil’s glad his mug is obscuring his mouth, because he stresses over his smiles even when he’s not posing for such high-stake photos.

Dan shows Phil the photos. Phil’s eyes are half closed in one.

“That’s my favorite,” he says. Phil shoves his shoulder.

“Alright, alright. How about this one?”

Phil leans in closer to look at Dan’s screen. Dan’s smile is wide. Phil can tell the difference already between a spontaneous Dan smile and a posed one, but it doesn’t look too forced. He’s got happy eyes. So does Phil.

It’s clearly a photo taken specifically for posting on Dan’s Instagram. But besides the obvious staging of the perfect moment, they do look like two people who enjoy each other’s company.

“Yeah, okay. That’ll do.”

Dan types out a caption and shows it to Phil before he posts it. _brunch with the bf_. And a little black heart emoji.

“Is that okay?”

He doesn’t really need to ask for Phil’s approval, but it’s nice that he does.

Phil nods. He feels a rush of adrenaline. This is it. Dan’s Instagram has over 500,000 followers, and he gains more each day. There’s no ambiguity now—Dan may have already introduced Phil as his boyfriend to the guests at an exclusive party, but now he’s broadcast the info on the internet. There’s no turning back.

“We should probably follow each other on Instagram and Twitter, right?” Dan asks. “Might look suspicious if we don’t.”

“I already followed you on both when I agreed to take the job. My Instagram is private and I barely use my Twitter. I’d like to keep them both under the radar to be honest. At least for now.”

“You’re a man of mystery. I respect that. I kind of envy it too.”

Phil makes a vague noise, watching Dan swipe up on his phone. Things are going to change for him soon. This job is going to rip the comforting blanket of anonymity right off him. He’ll still have some privacy. His public social media presence is virtually nonexistent. Any account with actual information about his personal life is locked down. But he’s not invisible anymore. People can see him. They might not know him, but they’ll know _of_ him. And people will dig. If anyone looks into what he does for a living, they’ll just be redirected to the graphic design consulting firm in the same complex as the agency. He’s listed as an employee on their site, because he technically is an employee there. He just so happens to only do about a week’s worth of work there a year. They know about his other job, as does his tax accountant—which is all that really matters.

But what if they manage to find info about his family? None of them are public figures, but that doesn’t mean they’re untraceable. What about his friends? Schoolmates? His dentist? He can visualize the complex web of connections between himself and other people—countless threads branching off his body in all directions, crisscrossing and tangling. He’s never considered himself a person who “knows” a lot of people. He keeps his social circle tight. But he’s no ghost. 

Phil looks up. Dan’s standing up beside the table, regarding him with concern.

“You okay? I don’t know where the hell you just went but I brought the tray and mugs back. You’ve been staring at the same spot on the table the whole time.”

“I’m fine.”

He is. He just feels like he’s suddenly naked in the middle of the café, all eyes on him. Like everyone there has seen Dan’s post. They haven’t, and they’re not looking at him. He knows that. But his throat seems to be full of cotton and he can’t breathe properly. He stands up and the floor tilts beneath his feet.

Dan grabs his arm and pulls him through the cafe, around tables and out the door. He steers him down a narrow alley that runs between the café and the business next door, around to the back where there’s a dumpster. Phil leans against it. Back here, they’re hidden away from view.

Dan’s hand is between his shoulders and Phil’s gripping onto his coat. He doesn’t remember grabbing it but the fabric is bunched up in his fist now. He lets go and puts some space between them. Dan’s hand falls away, but it’s still hovering in the air behind him.

Phil sucks in a deep breath. “Sorry, I don’t know what—I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure? You looked like you were going to pass out. Thought maybe you’d prefer to do it out here, where no one’s watching.”

Phil laughs shakily and takes another deep breath. This one flows in and out a lot smoother.

“I think the, uh, gravity of all this just sunk in.”

“What d’you mean?”

“You’re famous, Dan. You’re famous and you just posted a photo of us together on Instagram. Which is completely okay! It’s just…not something I’m used to.”

“I’m not famous,” Dan says defensively. Almost angrily. “Maybe among film nerds. But not famous-famous.”

“Well, you’re the most famous person I know.”

Phil knows from his research that it isn’t just obscure film nerds who know and care about Dan. Surely Dan must know that too. Phil took a Buzzfeed quiz where Dan was an option for a question. He watched a compilation video of Dan’s best scenes on YouTube (in his opinion, it wasn’t a great curation). He’s seen fan art. And people with Dan’s face as their profile pic on social media.

None of that made him household name material. But it wasn’t insignificant.

Dan looks pained. It occurs to Phil that maybe Dan’s just in denial. His fame might freak him out as much as it does Phil. He had said he envied him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dan asks.

“Yeah. I’m fine now.” He’s not sure he is, but his body at least has calmed down.

Dan’s entire demeanor changes. He slaps Phil on the back.

“That’s the spirit! Now I hate to leave you alone out here, like I’ve just sucked you off behind a seedy dumpster for five quid—”

“Dan! What the _fuck?”_

“—but I’ve got an important date with my therapist.”

Phil’s face is burning. It must be bright red. In this moment he truly, passionately hates Dan Howell.

Dan starts walking away swiftly, turning to wave at Phil over his shoulder.

“Gotta go fast! I’ll text you later, babe!”

Phil watches him go, speechless and angry. Who was he calling babe? Probably never had a dick in his mouth in his life. Fucking straight boys. All this bullshit was going to be the death of him…

He refocuses his thoughts. He really enjoyed lunch with Dan. He feels comfortable with him, even if he is a bit of a twat. And when Dan saw that Phil was panicking in the café, he got him out of there.

Phil’s halfway home when he gets a text from Dan.

_sorry if i crossed a line there im kind of an idiot and i don’t always think before i speak_

He smiles to himself. At least Dan’s somewhat self-aware. He waits till he’s in his flat before texting back.

_apology accepted. this time :P_

*

Dan takes Phil on lots of dates over the next few weeks. They go back to the café. They visit all kinds of restaurants. Phil introduces Dan to some of his favorite locations, and Dan returns the favor. Dan isn’t even close to being the richest client Phi’s worked with. In fact, Phil’s not even sure how much money Dan has left in the bank from his last job, and assumes he’ll have to pick up some part time work if he doesn’t land a new acting gig soon. Not that Dan’s finances are any of his business, as long as he’s paying what he owes Phil and the agency. Phil does his best to enjoy the outings to fancy sushi bars, the desserts that look like art pieces, and the alcoholic concoctions he’s never heard of. Even if it goes against his own more miserly tendencies.

He’s been wined and dined by many clients. It’s all a pretense, to show off to others how sophisticated they are. And he suspects some people he’s worked with have wanted to impress him, the lowly paid companion, in order to stroke their own egos. With Dan he feels more like a coconspirator. An equal. They’re playing at being rich and classy together.

They go on simpler dates as well. Walks in the park, coffees at the café or Starbucks. A ride on the London Eye. They traverse the city together playing _Pokémon GO_ —a scenario Phil had not foreseen. Dan shares a few more photos on his Instagram, and adds a few quick moments between them to his story. All carefully planned, of course.

When they’re together, they talk a lot. There are moments of silence between them. Some of them are awkward, but most are comfortable. Phil doesn’t have to feign interest in what Dan’s saying. He doesn’t have to fake laughs and smiles for the benefit of hypothetical observers. And when Dan occasionally reaches out to hold his hand, it feels perfectly natural. Phil never imagined such a high-profile job could feel so easy.

If they’d met some other way, Phil imagines that they could have genuinely been good friends.

*

It’s Friday and Phil’s at board game night. It’s not a fixed commitment, just an event that pops up whenever he and the three friends he plays with are available and willing. There’s wine, pizza, and friendly competition. Phil only has half an idea how the game he’s currently playing works, but he’s having fun and doing surprisingly well.

“You’ve just got dumb luck,” says Brenna, rolling a die and selecting a card from the draw pile. She groans when she turns it over in her hand and sees what it is.

“There goes the grain reserves I spent the last four turns building up.”

Phil wiggles in his chair. “Looks like Philly’s in the lead!”

“Not so fast,” says Brenna’s wife, Wendy, as she reveals a card from the row on the table in front of her. “I have a golden cow. Fork over the money, Philly.”

Phil pouts and pushes a pile of cardboard coins across the table to Wendy. She moves her game piece around the board. Brenna and Patrick high five each other.

“Take him down, Wens,” says Brenna.

“I’m feeling really attacked right now.”

Patrick pats him on the back. “Don’t worry, we may want to destroy you, but we still love you.”

Before Phil can retort, he’s jarred by the sudden vibration of his phone against his thigh. He picks it up off the chair. It’s a text from Dan.

“Mum?” asks Patrick.

“No, it’s…a friend.”

His friends know about Dan. They know he’s the client Phil’s currently working with, and that he’s an actor. Patrick had watched most of his films before Phil had even heard of him. But Phil hasn’t talked to them about Dan in-depth. He hasn’t talked about how much he enjoys spending time with Dan. Or how much they text each other beyond just details of when to meet up and where.

“Be back in a minute,” he says, rising from the table amidst protests from his friends.

“If you’re not back here by your turn you lose everything,” Brenna warns.

He leaves Patrick’s kitchen and goes down the hall toward the bathroom. He leans against the wall outside it and open the text from Dan.

_hey r u busy?_

He could just reply yes and then go back and play. He doesn’t owe Dan his time right now. But he’s curious as to why Dan’s asking.

_kind of. what’s up?_

_if ur busy dw about it  
just wanted to see if u were up for a little stroll_

_stroll?_

_yeah_  
im gonna take a walk  
could use some company but if ur busy dw 

It’s past ten. If Phil says no, is Dan just going to walk around by himself? There’s nothing truly strange or concerning about that. Dan’s a grown man, and if he wants to take a walk at night there’s no reason he can’t. But he’d texted Phil to see if he’d join him. Phil’s not sure why, but he doesn’t want Dan to be by himself.

_I’m really not busy  
where are you?_

_outside the tesco we bought those gross biscuits at_

_ok I’ll be there soon_

The Tesco is a fifteen minute walk away from Phil’s flat. Phil has his weekly food shop delivered from them, and pops in to pick up snacks and essentials frequently. But he’s not at his flat now; he’s at Patrick’s. He’ll have to take an Uber if he wants to get there soon. He checks the app, and sees there’s a driver a few minutes away.

Now he just has to come up with an excuse to leave.

“Sorry, guys,” he says, walking back into the kitchen. “I’m afraid I need to leave early.”

They all look at him with bewildered expressions. He never leaves board game night early.

“What? Why?” says Brenna.

“I’m just giving one of you a chance to win.”

No one laughs.

“Actually, I promised my friend Lori I’d help her out with something tonight. I got mixed up and thought it was tomorrow.”

It’s a shit lie, and he knows it. He does have a friend Lori, but he’s made no promises to help her out with anything tonight, tomorrow, or any time in the near future. He hasn’t even seen her in at least a month.

“And she needs your help now, at—” Brenna checks her phone. “—10:19?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

Patrick sighs and gets up out of his chair. He walks over to Phil and pulls him into a hug.

“Take care then, Phil.”

Wendy and Brenna get up and hug him too.

“You suck,” says Brenna, squeezing him painfully tight. “You’re just a coward who doesn’t want to see me own your ass.”

“Text if you need to,” says Wendy, as she lets him go. She looks worried.

“I’m fine,” he says to her, quietly. “Really. I promise.”

He should just tell them that he’s going to see Dan. But he knows saying he’s meeting up with his client late at night for an unscheduled rendezvous will sound weird. It is weird. It’s not something he’s ever done before, but here he is, about to do it without a second thought. If Dan’s luring him out to murder him, he’ll have no one to blame but himself.

He grabs his coat and leaves his friends confused and disbelieving. He heads out into the night, into the backseat of a car that smells like cigarettes.  
When he gets out in front of Tesco, he can’t see Dan anywhere. He checks his phone in case he missed any new messages. Nothing. He texts Dan.

_I’m here_

He goes inside where it’s warm and ends up wandering over to the candy aisle. He picks up a bag of Tangfastics. Does he need them? No. Should he get them? Probably.

“Boo!”

Phil yelps and drops the bag. He whirls around to find Dan standing behind him, shaking with laughter.

“That was so cute, Phil. You sounded like a little dog.”

Phil’s heart is pounding. He bends to pick up the bag of candy and smacks Dan in the chest with it.

“You’re horrible. I came all this way for you.”

“All this way?” he says mockingly. “I know how close you live.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t home.”

Dan’s devilish smile fades.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Phil puts the candy back on the shelf and smiles reassuringly at Dan.

“It’s cool. I was dying for an excuse to leave anyway,” he lies.

Dan smiles a bit, but he stills looks ashamed. He reaches for the Tangfastics Phil’s just put back.

“Let me buy you this. As compensation for your time.”

There’s no reason why Dan should be buying Phil anything right now, but Phil’s not about to pass up an offer of free Haribo. He’s only human.

So he lets Dan buy him candy. As he stands beside him at the till, he wonders how much they look like a couple to the cashier. Maybe not at all, if they’re the type of person who always sees two friends when they look at a pair of guys.

They head out into the night. Phil asks Dan if he wants any candy, and he declines. So he stuffs the bag into the deep pocket of his coat. It’s not freezing out, but it’s a chilly night. They talk for a bit as they walk down the street. Then Dan goes quiet and Phil follows suit. They walk in silence under streetlights, past small groups and pairs of people.

A part of Phil wants to ask why Dan wanted him here, and what exactly they’re doing. But another part of him—one he should try harder to keep in check—doesn’t care. Dan keeps his eyes on the ground mostly. Phil sneaks glances at him. He looks up at the black sky above and feels small among the tall buildings leaning in on either side.

He lets Dan lead the way, and they walk mostly in a straight line with a few twists and turns. Phil resists the urge to check his phone and see how long they’ve been out. He wants this to be a timeless moment. Just the two of them walking together in the night. No destination, no schedule. After a while Dan crosses the street and they start looping back around.

The route they’re taking is going to lead them right past Phil’s building. As they approach, Phil tugs on Dan’s sleeve.

He looks at him with wide eyes, eyebrows raised. It’s almost like he’d forgotten Phil was beside him.

“My building’s just ahead,” says Phil.

Dan nods. “Guess it’s time to call it a night then.”

Phil wants to say something more. He wants some kind of reassurance that Dan’s alright, and that he’s going to head home now. He doesn’t know how to word the question without sounding like he’s trying to be Dan’s mum or his boyfriend. Real boyfriend.

“You can get home alright, yeah?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“Okay. Thanks for the Tangfastics.”

Dan looks at the ground and shuffles his feet.

Phil says, “Goodnight, Dan,” and turns away.

He’s about to open the door when Dan calls out.

“Wait!”

He turns around and they stare at each other. Dan looks confused, like he’s not sure he understands why he asked Phil to wait either.

“Dan?”

He takes a deep breath and rubs his face.

“This is probably against like fifty rules, but—can I come in?”

“You want come up to my flat?”

He supposes Dan might need to use the bathroom. Or rest his legs a bit before he walks back home.

“Yeah, I just…don’t really want to be alone right now. And if I go home, I will be.”

Phil’s had a few clients over to his flat before. Not the one he lives in currently, but places he used to live. Those were scheduled visits, during the day, for specific reasons. It’s something he hasn’t done since moving into his new place, because he likes this location. He feels settled here, for now, and wants to keep his home a safe space. He has every reason to turn Dan away. He could tell him it’s strictly not allowed. He could decline without giving a reason or excuse, because he’s already done more than enough for Dan tonight.

“Sure,” he says, turning to open the front door. “Follow me.”

Dan follows him into the narrow hall and all the way back to Phil’s door, which opens onto a staircase. It’s been a long day and Phil is tired already. He hates his personal two flights of stairs. He sighs and begins his ascent. He can hear Dan creaking along behind him.

“Mate. Do you walk up all these stairs every day?”

“Sometimes I just curl up on the floor at the bottom and sleep there.”

They reach the top and Phil braces himself for the view of his lounge. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting any company, so he hasn’t tidied. It’s not a disaster, but there are socks everywhere. And an empty pizza box from the night before on the coffee table. Along with three empty mugs. And a towel draped over the back of the sofa. And…maybe it’s a minor disaster.

Dan doesn’t say anything about the mess. He just stands awkwardly at the top of the stairs.

“You can come in and sit down. Take your shoes off. Relax.”

Dan nods and walks tentatively into the space. He kneels down to pull off his shoes, lining them up neatly next to some of Phil’s. Phil notices a pair of pants on the floor and pushes them under the sofa with his foot. Then he sits down and starts untying his own shoes. This is it then. Just the two of them in his flat, slowly taking off their shoes.

Phil looks up and Dan’s slipping out of his coat, revealing a tight black shirt with mesh cutouts. Phil does his best not to stare. He could probably locate a nipple if he tried. If he wanted to.

He looks away and takes off his own coat, throwing it over the back of the sofa beside the towel, which he realizes with horror is still slightly damp. He needs to make sure Dan doesn’t get anywhere near it.

Dan walks over and joins him on the sofa, sitting as far away as possible, which strikes Phil as odd considering how close they’ve sat together in public. But then again, public and private are reversed for them. In public they’re supposed to be close and affectionate. Here, alone in Phil’s flat, there’s no reason for them to fake anything. Dan probably enjoys having his personal space.

He glances over at Dan and gives him a once over without really planning to. Besides the partially see-through top, he’s wearing ripped jeans and…minion socks? Yes, there are actual yellow minions on his feet. Phil snorts.

“What?”

“Nice socks.”

“Thanks,” says Dan, lifting a leg up in the air so Phil can get a better view. He lowers it and looks around the room. “I really like all of yours too.”

“Shut up.”

Dan lets his head fall back on the sofa.

“This is really weird, isn’t it? Should I not be here? Like, are you going to get in trouble?”

Phils scoots just a tiny bit closer to Dan, as if to signal through his body language that no, it’s not weird. Not in a bad way, at least.

“There isn’t actually anything in the contract that says you can’t be here. Some people have clauses about it, but it’s not an agency-wide rule or anything. Usually it’d only happen if you were having some kind of event though. Bringing the family over to your new boyfriend’s flat or something.”

There probably was some unspoken rule about inviting clients to your home privately. Of course, Phil hadn’t invited Dan. Dan asked and Phil is just being nice.

Dan keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling. Phil watches him, unsure of what to do. Then he lets out a big yawn.

“Sorry. I’m a little tired, I guess.”

“You don’t have to entertain me,” says Dan, turning his head to look at Phil.

Phil nods, barely stifling another yawn.

“Would you mind if I took a shower? I took one this morning, but I feel kind of gross,” he says, as if Dan needs to know about his showering habits.

“Of course I don’t mind.” He rolls his eyes. “You can take a shower in your own flat without my permission.”

“I know, but you said you didn’t want to be alone.”

Dan turns his face away again.

“I just didn’t want to be alone at home. Alone on your sofa while you’re down the hall is fine.”

Phil still hesitates. Dan is giving off strange vibes. His voice is monotone and hollow, and he seems to be deliberately avoiding eye contact. He’s been distant and quiet all night, and even his teasing is half-hearted.

But it’s nearly midnight and there’s a good chance he’s just tired. So is Phil, despite being a night owl.

“I’m fine, Phil. Go wank or condition your hair or whatever the fuck.”

That’s all the push Phil needs to get up and walk away from Dan.

The hot water feels heavenly. It melts the tension in his muscles. He turns up the water pressure on the shower head and lets the spray hammer down on the top of his head like a scalp massage. Without his glasses, everything is a warm, hazy blur. He can let the water wash away his anxiety, his worries evaporating like steam…

Of course, there’s the matter of Dan. He’s really left a stranger unattended in his flat. His flat full of nice things both sentimentally and monetarily valuable. He’s naked and he can’t see properly and he’s humming a Spice Girls song, while a stranger does who knows what in his home.

Except Dan’s not a stranger. Phil knows all kinds of things about Dan. He grew up in Wokingham. He has a little brother. He went to Manchester University for a year before dropping out to pursue acting. He’s afraid of moths, spiders, and the dark. He’s been to Paris and India. He loves scented candles and Formula 1. He spends a lot of his free time playing video games, and his close friends are almost all people he games with online (which is probably why he’s with Phil tonight).

Phil is aware that knowing things about a person isn’t the same as knowing who a person is, but he’s learned these things through spending time with Dan, and that’s given him an impression of his character. Phil trusts Dan enough to leave him alone on his sofa for twenty minutes.

He doesn’t really wash himself, or do anything Dan suggested. He just lets the heat turn his skin thoroughly pink, and when he can feel the slightest hint of lukewarm water working its way into the mix, he reluctantly turns the water off. Normally, Phil would wrap himself in two or three towels and lounge around passively drying, but he can’t do that with Dan around. And it’s late and he’s sleepy. So he rubs his body vigorously with a towel and lazily blow dries his hair. He leaves the bathroom clad in pajamas, a hoodie, and fresh socks. Dan’s never seen him dressed so casually before, but Phil doesn’t care. Impressing Dan with his fashion choices has never been a priority.

“Dan,” he calls down the hall as he approaches the lounge, “I hate to kick you out, but I think I’m going to bed soon…”

His voice trails off when he reaches the lounge. Dan is now lying across the sofa. He’s holding a Pikachu pillow tightly. Phil kneels down to look at his face. Dan’s eyes are closed, his expression completely unguarded. His breathing is even and deep. He’s asleep.

Phil could wake him up and tell him he needs to go. That would be the sensible thing to do. But the sensible thing to do would also be to not let Dan into his flat in the first place. And to tell him he was busy when he texted, or to not respond to the text at all.

He goes to the closet where he keeps the spare linens and gets out one of about six handmade quilts Brenna’s given him over the years. He remembers that the last time he got this one out in front of her, she groaned and described the colors as “naïve and disappointing.” But Phil likes the greens and purples and it’s a big, warm quilt. He carries it out to the lounge and carefully drapes it over Dan.

The thought of Dan waking up while he covers him with the quilt is nerve-wracking enough that Phil might have to smother him if he cracks an eyelid. If the idea of being caught bothers him so much, maybe he shouldn’t be doing it in the first place. He doesn’t want Dan to get cold though…but why should he care? Phil sometimes struggles to locate the line between courtesy and tenderness. He always strives to be kind, but sometimes he’s too kind. He oversteps. He makes people uncomfortable.

It’s just a quilt. He lays it over Dan and steps back. He’s not going to tuck him in or anything. It’s fine.

He turns out all the lights on his way back to the bathroom, where he brushes his teeth. He goes across the hall to his bedroom and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t always lock his bedroom door, but there’s still at least one sensible bone left in his body that acknowledges the possibility of Dan trying to do him harm.

He crawls into bed, wiggles down under his duvet, and falls asleep quickly, still warm and relaxed from his shower.

*

Dan’s not on the sofa when Phil wakes up. At first, Phil doesn’t even remember Dan was there in the first place. He walks into the lounge without a shirt on, only remembering Dan when he sees the folded up quilt. He crosses his arms over his chest and spins around, peering into the kitchen.

“Dan?”

He knows Dan can’t be in the bedroom or bathroom, having just been there. He checks the second bedroom, full of miscellaneous boxes of junk surrounding a sofa bed. No Dan.

He goes to the top of the stairs and looks down. Anxiety swirls in his stomach and he hurries down the stairs to check the front door. It’s unlocked.

So Dan left, leaving the door unlocked behind him. Now Phil has to sweep his flat, checking every possible hiding space for an intruder. He curses Dan under his breath, locks the door, and slowly creeps up the stairs.

He grabs the umbrella he keeps by the top of the stairs, and goes around the flat, checking under tables, chairs, and beds. He opens the closets and his wardrobe, and yanks back the shower curtain. His heart hammers the whole time. He even looks in the oven, washing machine, and fridge. Not a soul to be seen.

He puts the umbrella back and goes into this bedroom. His phone’s charging on the bedside table. He should have had it with him in the event he needed to call for help, but he hadn’t been expecting all of this so early in the morning.

He unplugs it and checks the time. It’s actually 10:30, so not early. Early enough for him. He has a text from Dan.

_sorry for falling asleep. thanks_

He doesn’t bother replying. They have no plans together, and he’s decided he’s going to have a Dan Howell-free day.

*

The peace lasts for two days. On the second day, Phil exchanges texts with Dan, ostensibly to make plans for an outing the following week, but they end up chatting about a TV show for about fifteen minutes afterwards.

The next day he’s carefully spreading marmalade on a piece of toast when his phone buzzes on the table. He puts the toast down and licks some marmalade off his fingers before picking up his phone. It’s a text from Brenna.

_Dude, check your twitter dms. I sent you a link_

He opens the app and checks the message. _Have you seen this?????_

He taps the link and waits while his phone opens up the browser and loads the web page. The first words he sees are “Dan Howell OUT and About in London.”

He scrolls down and gasps out loud, his heart jumping to attention.

It’s him. Photos of him with Dan. There they are, sitting on a park bench. Getting ice cream. Standing by a fountain and talking.

He’s never seen photos of himself like this before. He’s seen candid photos, moments captured by friends and family. And he’s seen himself existing in the background of other people’s photos. But this is different. A stranger took these without Phil knowing. He had no idea he was being photographed while it was happening. He’ll probably never know who took them. Someone he doesn’t know secretly took photos of Dan and him and now thousands of people he also doesn’t know are looking at them. And they care about it. They’re fascinated. They’re curious and hungry for another little peek into Dan Howell’s life. And apparently Phil is a part of that life worth documenting. It’s surreal. Disorienting.

The photos are on a gossip site focused primarily on British celebrities. He skims the article. There’s not much substance to it. It’s just about Dan having a boyfriend, speculation about his sexuality and how they met, comments on how cute they look together. They don’t know Phil’s name, which is a relief. At Phil’s request, Dan hasn’t used it in any posts or tweets. Phil knows that level of anonymity won’t last forever, but right now it’s a comfort.

He wants to close out of the site and not think about it anymore, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to let it out of his sight. Does this mean people are going to recognize him in public now, and maybe even approach him with or without Dan? Every time he goes out, he’ll be thinking about people watching him. Photographing him. He’s been aware of that possibility all along. He’s behaved as if he was being watched, just in case. It’s not just a likely possibility anymore; it’s a concrete reality. It’s happened and it will happen again. There’s no going back.

A call comes through and he nearly drops his phone.

It’s Dan. Dan’s calling him. Dan never calls—he just texts. Something must be really wrong. Phil hurries to answer.

“Dan? Did something happen?”

Dan laughs softly down the line.

“I guess you haven’t seen the photos, then?”

“What? You mean the ones of us? Yeah, I saw them. Is that why you’re calling?”

It shouldn’t be surprising that Dan’s call is related to the photos, but Phil’s so thrown off by the fact that he’s calling at all.

“Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh.”

“So…are you?”

Is he okay? He’s not panicking or thinking about going into hiding. He hasn’t had enough time to process his feelings yet, but he’s not on the verge of any sort of breakdown.

“Yes. It’s weird, but…I’m okay.”

“Good,” says Dan. He sounds genuinely relieved by Phil’s response.

“What about you?” Phil asks.

A short silence.

“Oh, I’m used to it. But I know you’re not, so I was checking up on you, you know?

“Right. Well, thank you. For checking.”

Dan doesn’t reply. Phil can hear him breathing steadily. He knows Dan’s going to say something more. It’s hanging in the air between them, transported across waves bouncing off cell towers. He waits.

“This might sound really weird, but can you come over?”

Phil didn’t expect that.

“Like, to your place? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, sure, I guess. But why?”

“I just need to see someone who…understands. But I don’t want to go outside.”

“Yeah, of course. Text me your address and I’ll be right over.”

First Dan came to Phil’s flat, now Phil’s going to his. He doesn’t think about it for more than a few seconds. He’s going. He’s been to plenty of clients’ homes for events and gatherings, but never to be with them privately just because they asked. But this job is shaking up all Phil’s rules and boundaries. It’s not like any job he’s ever worked before. He has to adapt.

He puts up the hood of his coat before he steps outside. It’s not cold, but he doesn’t want to be recognized. The photos weren’t taken near his building, but it makes him feel better. The walk to Dan’s seems agonizingly long. He imagines himself as a deer crossing a meadow to get from one safe patch of forest to the next. Except there’s people all around and he can blend in with the crowds. He’s not nearly as exposed as he feels.

When he reaches Dan’s building, he texts Dan to let him know he’s outside. Then he presses a buzzer next to the name Howell and waits for the door to open. Dan’s building is a newer build. It has a lift. It’s quite small and dingy, but it’s still an amenity that Phil envies. No wonder Dan was so stunned by all the stairs at Phil’s flat.

Dan’s building is much bigger than Phil’s, too. There’s only four units in Phil’s building, but here on the second floor of Dan’s he sees three front doors. He goes to the one Dan described and knocks. He stands there for enough time that he begins to seriously fear he’s gone to the wrong place.

“Phil?” a muffled voice calls from the other side of the door.

“Yes! It’s me.”

He listens to the door unlocking and then it opens inward, revealing Dan. He ushers Phil inside, locking the door behind them.

Phil takes in Dan and the space around them. He’s wearing pajamas, and his hair is mussed up and pushed back off his forehead. His flat is much neater than Phil’s. Everything has its own place. Phil briefly wonders if Dan tidied up before inviting Phil over, but he doubts it. Judging by the toothpaste stain on Dan’s shirt, he doesn’t seem to have gone to any effort to impress him.

The furniture is sleek and modern, but still appears homey and comfortable. Dan walks over to a plush, deep gray sofa and sits down, bringing his feet up onto the cushion. Phil follows and sits beside him, leaving space between them, but not sticking to the opposite end of the sofa either.

Dan chews his cuticles. He’s not looking at Phil. It’s awkward. Phil doesn’t know what to do or say. Last time he was on a sofa with Dan, he’d been encouraged to leave and take a shower, but he can’t exactly do that here.

It seems he’s just going along with whatever Dan requests lately. Dan asks to come up to his flat, so he lets him. Dan asks Phil to come over, so he goes. He’s not sure where that willingness stops. He’s fairly certain he wouldn’t rob a bank or commit murder for Dan, or eat a plate of cheese, so he still has plenty of control over the situation.

He decides to do what he would if one of his friends had asked him over and seemed to be troubled.

“Do you want to talk?”

Dan sighs and leans back into the sofa. He looks at Phil properly and gives him a weak smile.

“Do _you_ want to talk? I could really waffle on right now, but it might be annoying.”

“Go ahead. Just try and annoy me,” Phil replies, smiling at Dan.

He’d much rather listen to Dan ramble than sit in silence right now. He knows Dan’s capable of talking a lot. That might be what Phil needs right now. A distraction, a voice to listen to. Someone else’s thoughts to consider and digest.

Dan rearranges his legs and ends up moving closer to Phil.

“I don’t want to like, go full therapy rant on you.”

“It’s fine, Dan. As long as you don’t start telling me about any of your weird kinks or dark secrets.”

Dan snorts and his body relaxes. He looks at Phil and then away again, his brow furrowed.

“Okay, it’s just like…sometimes I wish I was invisible, you know? Like when I’m not in a movie. I love performing, but when it’s over I just…I don’t want anyone to look at me or think about me or know that I exist outside of it.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He just watches Dan and waits for him to continue.

“Not all the time. I’m usually fine. But sometimes I think about it too much and then suddenly I’m afraid to even leave the building.”

He laughs dryly and his hands form fists in his lap.

“Mind you, I was feeling off before I saw the pics. Just one of those days. Then I saw them and it was like, everyone really is watching, aren’t they? My stupid brain was right.”

He unclenches his fists and flexes his fingers.

“And the worst part is…I knew this was going to happen. I knew we were going to be photographed together. I didn’t know when, but I knew. Because this is the hot gossip now. The most important thing about my life. ‘Is Dan Howell Gay?’ ‘Dan Howell New Boyfriend.’ All that shit. I knew and I’m still freaking out.”

Dan doesn’t look like he’s freaking out. He doesn’t sound like it either. His voice is flat. His breathing is slow and even. But maybe Dan freaking out doesn’t look like Phil’s idea of freaking out. He moves closer to Dan and tentatively puts a hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry—”

“Why’re you apologizing?” Dan interrupts. “It’s not your fault. I made this happen.”

“No, I’m sorry you feel bad. I’m sorry this is hurting you.”

Dan just stares at him in wonder. “Wow,” he says slowly, “I really am a piece of shit.”

“What?”

“I was meant to be comforting you. Honestly, I called you because I thought, well, if I’m fucked up over this, Phil must be feeling even worse. But here you are. Being all angelic.”

Phil rolls his eyes. Angelic? Dan can be so dramatic sometimes.

“I wouldn’t’ve come over if I didn’t want to. And it’s nice to—to be with someone who understands, like you said.”

“How are you really feeling then? You said you were okay, but are you?”

Honestly, Phil just wants some sense of normalcy. Some indication that he’s still just Phil Lester, even if those photos exist and he’s pretending to date someone in the public eye.

“I’m feeling like…I want to destroy you at _Mario Kart._ Absolutely crush you.”

“Oh, Phil. You’ve never played against me before. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Just start the damn game up, Howell.”

Phil doesn’t even come close to destroying Dan, but he wins enough of the races to not feel like a complete failure. Dan gloats when he wins and whines when he loses. It’s incredibly obnoxious behavior, but for some reason Phil finds it endearing. Dan’s theatrics inspire Phil to let loose, bouncing with glee when he wins and pouting miserably when he loses.

He almost forgets about the photos. Who cares about the photos? No one is watching them here on Dan’s sofa.

They put the controllers aside when Phil’s stomach grumbles audibly. Dan laughs and offers to make them both a late lunch. Phil almost starts to protest, but stops himself when he can’t think of a reason why he should.

Dan makes them stir fry, with a little help from Phil, and they sit back down on the sofa to eat.

“This is not what I imagined we’d be doing when we first started this whole thing, I dunno about you,” Dan says when he finishes, putting his empty plate down on the floor.

“Actually, this is exactly what I expected. This is what happens with all my clients.”

“Wait—really?”

Phil laughs and shakes his head, and Dan shoves his shoulder.

“Hey! Watch my food!”

“You’re such a troll.”

Phil scrapes up the last bit of rice and then lays his empty plate on top of Dan’s.

“Why did you hire me in the first place?” he asks Dan.

The attention Dan’s getting because of his fake relationship with Phil is clearly distressing him. So what’s the point? If he didn’t want people speculating about his sexuality and his relationship, why hire Phil to date him? Putting up with stuff like that in order to genuinely date someone you liked was one thing, but why go through it if you didn’t have to?

“I didn’t hire you for _Mario Kart,_ I can promise you that. There’s plenty of people online who can give me a real challenge.”

Phil ignores the jab. “I meant why did you want to be in a fake relationship at all?”

Dan shrugs. “It wasn’t really my idea. I don’t fully understand why, but my manager said, ‘It would be prudent for you to publicly be in a relationship during this juncture of your career’ or some shit like that.”

“Okay…but why? What’s so ‘prudent’ about it?”

“I already told you, I don’t know. But I didn’t want to start seriously dating anyone because I’d literally just broken up with someone, so we settled on this. All of the intrigue and none of the heartbreak.”

The last woman Dan had publicly dated stopped appearing in photos on his Instagram a little over four months before Phil had met him. He isn’t sure if that’s when they’d broken up or not, or even if that’s the breakup Dan’s referring to. He doesn’t know if Dan dated anyone else more casually after that, but he might have, if there was any truth to his assertion that signing a contract with the agency was going to suddenly ruin his sex life.

Parts of Dan’s explanation aren’t really adding up for Phil. But he isn’t interested in interrogating him. He’s just getting paid to do a job and having some fun along the way.

“I get to ask you something now,” says Dan.

“Is this a sleepover?”

“How did you get into this line of work?”

Phil thinks it over before he responds.

“Well, someone I went to uni with recommended me. See, I pretended to be my friend’s boyfriend for a while because her parents were massive homophobes that liked to visit all the time, and she didn’t want them to know she was dating her roommate. And then this guy who was friends with a friend of hers got in touch with me. He worked for the agency. It was a really small operation back then. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, so I thought I’d just work there for a few months while I figured stuff out. And here I am, nearly ten years later.”

“Right.”

The guy who’d recruited Phil had left the agency only a few weeks after Phil had started. Phil was one of only four men and ten women then (not counting all the non-dating staff). By the end of his first year, there were over twenty people faking it alongside him, and now there were close to a hundred, working out of several offices in England.

They don’t talk for much longer. They turn on the TV and fall into a comfortable silence broken only by laughter and the occasion one word interjection.

Phil leaves a few hours later. He’s hungry again, but it seems like a bit much to suggest they eat together again. They both seem to come to the conclusion that it’s time to call it a day, and there’s no need for excuses. Phil doesn’t say he hates to leave but has to go, and Dan doesn’t ask him to stay.

There’s an awkward moment just as Phil’s about to walk out of Dan’s flat and into the hall. He has a slight urge to hug Dan, as he would any friend after spending the better part of the day with them. But Dan’s not “any friend.” He’s not a friend at all, technically. So Phil stops himself and pats Dan on the arm instead.

“Take care, Dan.”

“Bye, Phil.”

When he gets home, it occurs to Phil that he never replied to Brenna. He writes a quick text, thanking her for sending the link and assuring her he’s fine. He answers a few texts from other people who saw the photos—friends and his mum. He promises her he’ll call tomorrow. He’s tired right now, but fine.

He makes dinner and watches a superhero movie while he eats. Thoughts of the photos drift through his mind. He does his best not to think about them. He focuses on the food and the screen, and smiles when he thinks about the way it felt to sit next to Dan on the sofa and play video games with him.

*

Dan is definitely Phil’s friend. Phil doesn’t know if Dan thinks they’re friends, and maybe friendship can only exists when it’s mutually agreed upon, but there’s no denying anymore that Phil considers Dan to be his friend. And that’s a problem.

Phil can’t deny that Dan is his friend when they not only text all the time, but FaceTime almost every day. They go over to each other’s flats for dinner and video games and nothing at all. When they go out in public it barely feels like work. It’s just fun. Everything is fun when he does it with Dan.

One problem is that Dan has bought Phil’s companionship for a limited time, and there’s an expiration date on their relationship. Phil is getting emotionally invested in something that was never meant to last.

Another issue is that the closer Phil gets to Dan, the more chance there is that something could go wrong between them. Keeping a professional level of emotional distance between himself and his clients is necessary to make things run smoothly. What if he and Dan have a falling out and Dan decides to expose them or the agency? Things could get messy. People could get hurt.

Phil can’t undo what’s been done, but he could take a step back. He could be subtle about it—not reply to every text and pick up every call, turn down invitations to go to Dan’s place, and stop inviting him to his. Or he could be mature about it and sit down and have a serious discussion with Dan about boundaries and the nature of their relationship. He could even go to his superiors and tell them he needs to have a meeting with Dan and his people to set some new rules, maybe amend the contract.

He doesn’t want to do any of those things. He wants to play _Crash Bandicoot_ with Dan until they’re biting the controllers and cursing each other out. He wants to invite Dan over in the afternoon and make him scrambled eggs and beat him at _Scrabble._ He wants Dan to sneakily text him when he’s at meetings and auditions.

So he keeps his worries to himself. He doesn’t tell his superiors that anything’s amiss. He doesn’t tell his friends how he feels about Dan. He considers talking to Aisling about it—she might understand better than anyone else—but he’s afraid she’ll tell him something he doesn’t want to hear.

Dan is paying Phil to pretend to be his boyfriend. He’s become Phil’s friend. He’ll make it work.

A few more photos of him and Dan surface online. Some are just circulated amongst fans; others end up on gossip sites. Phil does his best to avoid looking at them, and doesn’t read anything written about them. Dan takes a different approach. He obsesses over every picture and every word. He googles his name and goes through his Twitter mentions, sniffing out every bit of chatter.

“This is just what I do. I was like this before I met you. I need to know what the people are saying.”

“Does it make you feel better? Knowing?”

“Nope.”

*

Phil falls asleep on his sofa while watching reruns of _The Office._ He wakes up two hours later with a stiff neck and a dry mouth. He groans, stretches, and reaches for his phone on the coffee table to check the time. He feels like he’s been asleep for years.

He has four texts from Dan, all sent within the last twenty minutes.

_come over_  
please  
i have cake  
phiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiil 

He smiles and replies.

_awfully needy aren’t you?  
I fell asleep do you still want me to come over?_

_yes hurry up_

Phil brushes his teeth, restyles his hair, and puts his contacts in. He changes out of the oversized t-shirt and baggy joggers he’s wearing and into a casual button-up and skinny jeans. He wouldn’t bother so much if Dan was coming to see him, but he has to walk outside to get to Dan. And there’s no reason why he shouldn’t look nice when he goes to see Dan. It’s not like he’s making himself look nice specifically _for_ Dan.

When the lift doors at Dan’s building open to him, Phil squeals, because Dan is standing inside. He reaches out and drags him into the lift.

“What’re you screaming for?”

“You’re lurking in the lift!”

“I’m not lurking. I just thought I’d meet you at the door.”

Dan’s cheeks are pink and the rosy patch on his jaw is especially red. He looks down at his feet in a way Phil can only describe as bashful. He’s wearing slippers.

Phil feels exceptionally smiley suddenly and he’s glad Dan isn’t looking at him while he tries to control his contorting face.

When they enter Dan’s flat, Phil is surprised to see a cake actually sitting on the island in his kitchen.

“There _is_ cake!”

“Yeah? I told you there was.”

“I thought that was just a lie to lure me over here.”

“Lure you over here for _what?”_

Phil has to bite back his first response. “Uh, to kill me. Obviously.”

“Well, it could be poisoned, so watch out.”

Dan lifts the plastic cover off the cake. It’s the premade kind from a shop, with a personal message written in looping lines of red icing.

“ _Congratulations Dan!”_ Phil reads. “Congratulations on what?”

“Dunno. Being alive? Not doing anything stupid? It’s from my manager.”

Dan swipes up a bit of white icing from the top of the cake and licks it off his finger.

“Don’t you dare put that finger back on the cake,” says Phil.

“Or what?” says Dan, and he sinks the finger through the top of the cake.

“I’m calling the police!”

They bicker a bit more. Dan cuts the cake and gives Phil a slice from a part of the cake he hasn’t—in Phil’s words—befouled.

It’s good cake. Red velvet, which Phil loves. They eat on the sofa and Dan admonishes Phil for getting crumbs on it. Phil makes a show of picking up every individual crumb and depositing it on Dan’s plate.

“Do you want to watch something?” Dan asks, when they’ve finished eating. “Actually, I watched part of this really interesting documentary about escort services on Netflix last night—”

 

“I’m not an escort—”

“Okay, but they don’t all have sex.”

“—The most I do is kiss people.”

“Okay, okay.”

Phil sighs and leans back into the sofa. Dan has a funny look on his face.

“You do kiss people, don’t you? To convince people,” he says slowly.

“Uh, yes. That’s what I just said?”

“So, would you kiss me?”

Phil’s brain goes blank for a few seconds, but he recovers. He looks at Dan’s earnest face and then looks all around the empty flat.

“What, like right now? There’s no one here.”

Dan frowns.

“I know that! But I feel like if the first time we do it is when people are watching, we might fuck it up.”

“How? Are you going to accidentally suck my nose or—”

“We don’t have to! We don’t have to ever, here or anywhere, if you don’t want to. I just thought it might—it was just a stupid idea.”

Dan crosses his arms tightly and leans away. He focuses intently on his knees. There’s a somewhat wide space between them at the moment. Phil quickly thinks over his proposal. They’ve yet to discuss kissing as a way to sell the ruse in public, but it was an option that was always on the table, and well…what was the harm?

“No, you’re right. If we do kiss in public, we need it took look natural. Not forced or like we hate each other.”

Dan’s looking at him again. The tension in his shoulders eases.

“So, um…come here, I guess?”

Dan laughs and his body fully relaxes out of it guarded position.

“‘Come here, I guess?’ You’re so romantic, Phil.”

Before Phil can say anything back, Dan slides across the sofa and has one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and the other resting respectably low on his thigh.

His face is close and there’s really nowhere else for Phil to look. He has a faint dusting of freckles by his eyes that Phil has never noticed before. His eyelashes are thick and the circles under his eyes are light blue-grey smudges beneath the warm tones of his skin.

Phil is calm. And why shouldn’t he be? The only thing unusual about what they’re about to do is the location and lack of observers, but otherwise, it’s business as usual.

“I don’t know how many of my films you’ve watched, but I’m really good at looking passionate. I could make out with a rotten pumpkin, and people would be moved.”

“You really know how to set the mood.”

“I’m just saying—I’m a good actor.”

“So am I,” Phil whispers, as he closes the distance between them.

Phil isn’t prepared for the electric heat that runs from his head to his toes when he kisses Dan. He isn’t ready for the way Dan’s fingers brushing the hair on the back of his neck makes him shiver, or the way Dan’s grip on his thigh tightens briefly.

Shit. He should not be enjoying this. He should not be getting flustered from a soft, professional kiss on the lips. Barely more than a glorified peck, honestly.

Dan pulls away and right before he dips his head, Phil swears he sees a smug smirk. God, he probably thought he was just that good, that the briefest of kisses was somehow mind-blowing. And sure, he had incredibly soft lips, and he used just the right amount of pressure, and he lingered just enough that Phil felt like he was on the edge of what could have turned into something deeper, but…

Fuck.

“Was that okay?”

“What?”

Was Dan really asking Phil to rate his kiss? Did he have to make such intense eye contact while he asked?

“I mean, for if we do it in front of people. Are you okay with that sort of kiss?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. That’s fine. Really fine. I mean, I’ve had people stick their tongues down my throat for the sake of making someone jealous. So like. Yeah. That was fine.”

“Good,” says Dan, smiling. “I promise I’ll never ask to stick anything down your throat.”

“I hate you.”

Phil cringes right after he’s said it, not because he’s afraid of offending Dan, but because he doesn’t want Dan to realize the effect this interaction is having on him. He covers his face with his hands.

Phil has kissed plenty of clients. He once had a man have to excuse himself and leave the room when he accidentally got hard while they were putting on a show at his ex’s wedding reception. Phil had been embarrassed, mostly for the poor sod who’d gotten a bit too excited, but he hadn’t felt like this—exposed and vulnerable. And there wasn’t even anyone watching. 

Dan is laughing.

“Okay, that was fun and all, but I’m still hungry. Are you up for a takeaway?”

“Yeah, I could eat,” Phil says. He stands up. “Have to use your bathroom.”

“Domino’s?” Dan calls after him as he leaves.

“Sure!”

Safely behind the closed door of Dan’s bathroom, Phil lets out a long breath. He looks at his face in the mirror. It’s noticeably pink. He groans and splashes some cold water on it. Now it’s just wet and pink.

He sinks down to sit on the floor, leaning back against the wooden outer frame of Dan’s bathtub.

What’s wrong with him? He’s found Dan attractive since the beginning. It’s not as if he’s just discovered Dan is hot. There’s something else swirling around inside him—something with the power to transform a simple kiss into an experience that has him too flustered to be in the same room as Dan.

He can’t dwell on the meaning behind his reaction right now. He needs to compose himself. He gets up, pees, and examines his face in the mirror again as he washes his hands. His skin has returned to its normal paleness.

He joins Dan back out in the lounge, and they watch TV while they wait for the pizza. Soon Phil is completely relaxed again. It helps that Dan seems so unfazed by what happened between them. It really was no big deal; Phil was just overthinking in the moment.

Their food arrives and they eat, laugh, and talk. Phil sits on Dan’s sofa with one of Dan’s feet thrown over his lap, slowly digesting a belly full of pizza, and wishes he didn’t have to leave. But he can’t stay forever. He has an appointment with his dentist in the morning, and then he’s having lunch with Patrick and his girlfriend, Audrey. He needs a good night’s sleep in his bed.

Dan rides down in the lift with him, and they hug before Phil steps outside. He walks for a bit and then turns to see Dan still standing in the doorway. He waves and Dan waves back before disappearing inside, closing the door behind him.

His gut is heavy with cake and pizza, but his heart feels light. It’s a beautiful night out in London, and he enjoys the walk home.

*

Phil doesn’t see Dan in person for a few days. He goes to his appointment. The hygienist bloodies up his gums and tells him he needs to floss between his back molars more. The dentist looks at his teeth and concludes they’re all still there and in working order. He goes to lunch with a sore mouth and learns about Patrick’s latest film project and Audrey’s new teaching position.

He does laundry. Sorts out the recycling. Finally completes some paperwork related to an old assignment with the agency. Contacts his landlord about the dripping tap in the kitchen. Dan texts him, and he texts back. They make plans to go to the café for lunch later in the week, and then maybe take a walk around London and see where they end up.

 _make sure u wear something cute for the cameras,_ Dan texts.

 _make sure you don’t wear something that’ll make me embarrassed to be seen with you,_ Phil responds.

*

Dan shows up at the café in a black romper, with sunglasses and white shoes.

“It looks good. You look like—”

“A sad mailman? You can say it.”

“Who says ‘mailman’? No, I was going to say you look like a trendy celebrity.”

“That’s code for ‘you look ridiculous,’ but thank you. I had to get my knees out to take advantage of the weather.”

Phil wishes he’d gotten his knees out. It’s an unseasonably warm day and his legs are sweating in their skinny black prisons.

He orders an iced coffee and Dan gets an iced green tea. They split a sandwich and people-watch lazily from a back corner table.

“Any idea where you want to go after this?” Phil asks, spinning the straw around in his empty cup.

“Maybe we could just go to the cinema? I don’t really feel like parading around outside.”

“That’s fine with me.”

It’s much cooler in the theater than outside. They sit in the back row and Phil holds a absurdly large bucket of popcorn for them to share.

People may have recognized them on their way in, but here in the dark they become invisible observers. Phil sinks down into his seat and lets his senses take over. His eyes are fixed to the bright screen. The loud soundtrack pulses all around him. His lips burn from the salt and butter, and every so often his fingers brush against Dan’s as they both reach into the bucket.

When the lights come back on Phil feels like a bug whose rock has been lifted up, exposing him to the world around. He always feels strange after movies. He drifts on jelly legs out of the theater and into the cinema lobby. It’s like exiting a spaceship after a long journey, and stepping back onto earth. The world is so busy and complex, full of people moving in all directions—nothing like the simplicity of sitting in rows of chairs with strangers, all focused on a single screen.

Dan started talking animatedly about the film the second they left their seats. Dan always has a lot of thoughts and opinions about media. Phil listens, nodding and occasionally chiming in when Dan pauses for breath and looks at him expectantly. Phil isn’t like Dan. He doesn’t know how he feels yet. He’s still trying to readjust to the world outside the movie, and then he’ll process what he’s just seen. But he doesn’t mind listening to Dan ramble on.

It’s past 5 and they decide to go back to Phil’s flat. They get caught up in playing video games for hours, and when Phil checks the time, it’s nearly 9pm.

“My eyes are on fire. I have to take my contacts out,” he says, getting up off the sofa. His stiff joints crack loudly and he stumbles down the hall, listening to Dan laugh behind him

He looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is a mess and his eyes are bloodshot. His hands are cramped from gripping the controller for hours. His face hurts from smiling and there’s the slightest ringing in one ear from all of Dan’s screaming while they played. He runs a hand through his hair, washes his hands, and removes his contacts.

He walks back out into the lounge and finds Dan curled up tight against one arm of the sofa, looking at something on his phone.

“Someone took a photo of us in the cinema lobby,” he says without looking up at Phil. His voice is flat and doesn’t betray any emotion.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, you look cute. You are doing that weird-ass shit with your hand in your pocket, though. And I look fucking stupid. Why’d you let me go out in public dressed like that?”

Phil sighs and flops down on the sofa.

“Firstly, don’t make fun of my weird alien hand thing. Secondly, I’m not your stylist, but you looked good. You always do.”

Dan looks up from his phone and raises his eyebrows. He smirks.

“Really? You think I always look good?”

“Honestly, no. I’m just trying to make you feel better.”

Dan pokes him in the side with his foot.

“You’re such a twat.”

Phil’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. It’s a text from Aisling.

_im durnk let me in_

“Oh, dear.”

Dan sits up and leans into him, trying to read the text.

“Ooh, who is it? Your secret lover?”

Phil pushes Dan’s face away with a hand on his cheek.

“My friend. She’s drunk so I’m going to let her in.”

He goes down the stairs and opens the door to Aisling.

“Philip! Hello.”

“Hi, Aisling.”

He lets her go up the stairs ahead of him, so that maybe he can catch her if she falls. (More likely they’d both just tumble to their deaths.) She’s fairly steady on her feet though, so she must not be too intoxicated.

“Been having fun?” he asks, once they’ve safely made it up the stairs.

“Girl’s night. I saw a whale.”

“So, wine and nature documentaries?”

“David gets me. Why can’t I go on dates with him?”

“David?” Dan asks Phil. He’s looking over the back of the sofa at them.

“Attenborough,” Phil explains.

Aisling notices Dan for the first time.

“Oh, hello!” She looks back at Phil. “Bringing your work home?”

Dan looks stricken, eyes darting between the two of them.

“Aisling and I work together,” says Phil, “so she knows about…all this.” He gestures vaguely between himself and Dan.

She walks further into the flat, entering the lounge and flopping down on the sofa beside Dan. His body language is still stiff and guarded, and Phil hopes Aisling doesn’t say anything else that will spook him. Or embarrass either of them. She has no verbal filter when she’s drunk.

She pats Dan on the knee and shakes her head.

“Oh, Danny. Danny, Danny, Danny. Have you been treating my Phil right?”

She’s crowding him against the arm of the sofa. Dan looks at Phil desperately.

“Aisling, don’t be a menace.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, but moves away from Dan.

“I’m not a menace. I’m just asking.”

Phil needs to steer her in a different direction.

“Are you hungry? Me and Dan haven’t eaten yet.”

She nods excitedly.

“Okay, I’ll make us something. Be good.”

He scurries into the kitchen. Leaving Dan alone with Aisling right now is probably unfair, but he’ll survive.

He needs to whip up something quick. He opens the fridge and sees that he’s got some plain cooked pasta in a plastic container, and a jar of garlicky tomato sauce. He can throw some of that in the microwave. It’s not exactly gourmet cooking, but it’ll do.

He mixes the pasta and sauce together and prepares to heat it up. He leans against the kitchen counter while it spins in the microwave.

Aisling’s voice is loud and carries from the lounge.

“Phil is a very special person. Okay? He deserves the best and he never gets it. So don’t take advantage of him.”

Phil can’t hear Dan’s reply, if he even gives one. He’s embarrassed, but his heart is also warm for Aisling. He know she cares, but it’s nice to hear her express that verbally. Even if she’s drunk and saying it to someone else.

When the pasta is hot he divides it evenly onto three plates and carefully carries them out to the lounge one at a time. He makes Aisling move over on the sofa so he can sit between her and Dan. He watches as Dan eases back into the sofa now that he has a physical, Phil-shaped barrier between him and Aisling.

Aisling bemoans the fact that her fun evening ended quite early because of one friend’s opening shift the next morning, and another’s babysitter having to leave suddenly—all of which “ruined the mood.”

Phil likes hanging out with Aisling—though he prefers it when they’re both sober—but right now he wishes he was alone with Dan. He imagines Dan feels the same, if his silence is any indication of his current state of mind.

When they’ve finished eating, Aisling asks if she can stay the night on Phil’s sofa, and Dan immediately follows her request by saying he has to leave.

“Yes, Aisling. As long as you promise not to drool on it like last time.”

“I have never drooled on anything ever in my entire life.”

“Sure.”

Dan is already putting on his coat. He seems to be in a hurry to get away, and it stings.

“Farewell, Dan Howell,” says Aisling, giving him the royal wave.

“Bye,” he replies curtly, and starts walking down the stairs.

Phil hurries after him.

They stand in the front hall together and Dan finally hesitates.

“Sorry about Aisling,” Phil says. “I hope she didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t have to apologize for having a friend over.”

He sounds angry, and Phil doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong.

“Sorry,” he repeats quietly.

“Shit,” says Dan, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m the sorry one, alright? I’m just annoying and jealous.” He takes a step closer to Phil and smiles. “Thank you for dinner, and for everything else.”

He pulls Phil into a quick hug and then opens the door and slips out.

“Goodnight, Phil.”

“Goodnight,” says Phil, a bit too late. He’s not sure Dan heard him, as his long legs are carrying him swiftly away.

As he makes his way back up the stairs, Phil tries to figure out what Dan was talking about. What’s he jealous of? Aisling? Phil hangs out with Dan way more than Aisling. Honestly, he’s been hanging out with Dan more than anyone else lately. Either way, Dan’s never seemed bothered by Phil talking about any of his friends. Maybe there was just something about tonight.

He remembers with a pang of anxiety that Dan being jealous in any way relating to Phil is a problem. Dan is his client, and that kind of emotional attachment is dangerous. Phil has been telling himself it’s fine if they’re friends, but it really isn’t.

If it were any other client, Phil would talk to his manager and see what steps should be taken. But it’s Dan. Phil likes him and trusts him, and as foolish as it may be, he knows he’s not going to say a word to anyone.

The only person he’ll be forced to face is Aisling. He knows she’ll have questions in the morning.

*

To Phil’s surprise, Aisling only says one thing about Dan before she leaves the next morning.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t worry,” he tells her. “Everything’s fine.”

She answers him only with a skeptical expression.

*

Dan invites Phil over for a “culinary experience.” He admits on the way up in the lift that what he meant was he’d bought too much premade sushi at Waitrose and needed someone to share it with.

“You’re so posh,” Phil teases as Dan unlocks the door to his flat.

“Shut up.”

Dan leaves Phil in the lounge while he heads to the bathroom. Phil walks around, too antsy to sit still. Sometimes being with Dan is calming, other times it fills him with a giddy, unshakeable energy. He wanders into the kitchen. There’s a little alcove off the larger room where a round table sits. Dan rarely seems to use it. A bunch of papers are scattered across the surface, and Phil goes over to do a little snooping.

He sits down and examines some of the papers. He probably shouldn’t be looking at Dan’s private things, but then again, they are just laying out on the table. One time Phil had left his laptop unattended with Dan, and he’d opened the browser and clicked over to the tab where Phil was reading explicit fanfiction. This is fair play.

There’s bills and bank statements still in their envelopes, and other boring bits of mail. Then Phil finds something more interesting. There’s a film treatment and a script. Phil flips through a few pages of the treatment. He starts reading some lines from the first page.

_ANDREW is a young man who doesn’t know who he is or what he wants. THE ROAD TO TRUTH is the story of him discovering himself and his sexuality, and the people he meets along the way. ANDREW has just called off his wedding, leaving his girlfriend of eight years, SOPHIE, behind. Scenes set to music show Andrew walking away down the aisle, removing his tie, getting in his car and driving off. These are interspersed with images of ANDREW pouring over maps, tracing routes in red pen, and buying an RV. ANDREW is preparing to embark on a solo cross-country road trip…_

Phil grabs the script. Andrew’s lines are highlighted. He skips around.

_Andrew kisses the man. The man whispers in his ear, inviting him back to his hotel room…_

He reads more, a strange sense of dread overtaking him, like a glass of cold water tipped into the top of his head, dripping slowly through his body.

_ANDREW: What if I am gay? Would you hold that against me?_

_SOPHIE: I don’t care what you are, Andrew. I care that you hurt me._

He gets to a sex scene—between Andrew and another mystery man in some cheap American motel—and he closes the script, pushing it and the other papers across the table. He wants them as far from him as possible.

Dan’s Andrew. He has to be. Dan’s landed a role in an American movie being produced by a major film studio. A role where he plays a gay man.

Phil doesn’t pick the script or the treatment back up. He doesn’t want to know if the film ends happily or tragically. He doesn’t want to know anything about it at all. He doesn’t want to picture Dan faking passion with some gorgeous, young American actor. Dan speaking in an American accent. Dan on a red carpet, being interviewed and commended for his talents and bravery. Dan giving an acceptance speech, giving a shout out to the LGBT community…

Phil hears footsteps behind him. He yelps and spins around in his chair, a hand over his heart. It’s Dan.

“Uh, you alright there, Philly?” He’s changed out of his jeans and dark denim jacket into joggers and a black jumper.

His eyes travel to the pile of papers. “Oh.”

“Are these yours?” Phil asks. It’s a nonsensical question. Of course the papers are Dan’s.

Dan laughs nervously and goes to take a seat at the table. He sits across from Phil, close to where the offending papers are piled. He picks up the script, eyes lazily drifting over the page without really focusing.

“Surprise! I wanted to tell you earlier—we’ve been in talks about it for ages, before I even met you—but my people said we needed to make sure it was a done deal before I mentioned it to anyone. But yeah…I’m going to be in a movie. A Hollywood fucking movie.”

Dan sounds pleased, but he won’t look Phil in the eye.

“I start filming not long after our contract ends.”

Phil can feel his pulse pounding in his head. His mouth is dry, his tongue thick.

“So, was that what this was about?” Phil says, gesturing between them. “To start buzz for your big gay film role?”

He does his best to sound curious, not accusatory. Dan’s reason doesn’t matter—shouldn’t matter—to him. Their “relationship” is a business arrangement, after all.

“No. Well, maybe partially? I think that’s why my people encouraged me to do this.”

His voice is timid. He glances up and meets Phil’s eyes, then quickly looks away again.

“But I think I also just wanted some experience. I mean, not like full method or anything, but I wanted to get used to the idea of it. Being with a guy, I mean. I never have before.”

“And you still haven’t.”

Dan hasn’t been with Phil, in any sense. They’re not together. It’s all…what? Role research? Phil shouldn’t be feeling so upset. So used. This is his job. This is _Dan’s_ job. Why does he think Dan got involved with him? Because he was lonely and would rather pay someone to pretend to date him than go out and charm someone for real? Phil is so fucking stupid.

Dan’s face is flushed red and he avoids Phil’s gaze. “This isn’t—easy for me, okay? I’ve never done something like this before. Paid someone to pretend to be with me. It’s—it hasn’t been what I expected.”

“Oh, yeah? How so?” try as he might, he can’t keep the disdain out of his voice.

“I didn’t expect to like you so much.”

And it’s Phil’s turn to blush.

“You’re just…you’re a really fun person to be around. I thought the kind of person who’d do this work would be, I don’t know. Cold? But you’re—you’re...I don’t know…” he trails off, picking at the sleeves of his jumper, still refusing to look at Phil.

“And I’m kind of really sad, that when this thing between us is over, I probably won’t be able to see you again.”

Phil’s disappointment in Dan is fading away. He just wants to reassure him and make him happy.

“That’s not true. We could—we could still keep in touch. As friends. Just privately, or publicly too, if you want.”

Dan perks up and his eyes widen.

“Would you really want to? I mean, I don’t think we could interact publicly because we don’t want anyone finding out about this whole deal—would really ruin my reputation—but you’d still want to talk? Just between us?”

“Yeah, sure, if you want.”

Phil wants it. Desperately. He never wants to stop doing things with Dan. He’ll take a few texts a week if that’s the best he can get. He can’t bear the idea of Dan becoming just an image again—on a screen, on the covers of magazines. His name in clickbait headlines taunting him across social media. Following him on Instagram, watching him thrive. Watching him but not knowing him. It’s unthinkable.

“Great! I have to go to America for rehearsals and filming. You’d better text me all the time so I don’t get lonely.”

Dan’s smiling at him now, so Phil smiles back.

Something heavy hangs in the air between them. Things have changed. Illusions have been swept aside, and Phil has been given the wake-up call he needed. This thing with Dan was never going to go on forever in its current state. It was meant to change, to end. The fact that he might be able to still talk to Dan when it’s all over is a blessing he doesn’t deserve.

“So…” Dan say tentatively. “Sushi?”

Phil forces another smile and tries to invoke the happiness he felt before finding the damn script.

“Yes, please.”

Phil doesn’t stay with Dan as long as he might usually. Trying to pretend he’s fine for Dan’s benefit is too draining. He doesn’t know what Dan’s thinking, but his own mind is an anxious mess of jumbled thoughts tumbling together like clothes in a dryer.

He needs some time and space away from Dan.

*

Phil can’t sleep. He’s thinking about Dan. He’s thinking about how they’re going to “break up” and Dan will leave to go to America. He’s thinking about how when that happens he won’t be able to see Dan all the time. He won’t be able to laugh with him, talk with him, tease him, hug him, or even just be around him. And maybe they’ll text, but Phil knows the way these things go. Dan will be busy with the movie. Dan will be busy with all the exciting things life in America will have to offer him. So he’ll text Phil at first. Then he’ll stop reaching out, but he’ll at least reply to Phil. But that’ll end eventually, too. That’s what happens with relationships sometimes. They bleed out slowly, drop by drop, until suddenly there’s nothing left.

Phil rolls unto his stomach and presses his face into the pillow. There’s a physical pain in his chest. His throat is tight and he thinks he could cry if he really pushed his thoughts further down the dark halls they’re currently exploring. But he doesn’t want to cry. He wants to sleep.

He can’t stop thinking about Dan, but maybe he can think happier Dan-thoughts. He thinks about what it feels like to hug Dan. How nice it is to hug someone closer to his own size, someone just a little taller. No awkward bending required. Once a fan of Dan’s ran into them and asked for a hug and a photo. Dan obliged, but afterwards he told Phil he didn’t really like hugging people. Dan never hesitates to hug Phil.

Phil thinks about when Dan kissed him on the sofa, and his heart flips. They’ve yet to test that out in public. Phil isn’t a big fan of PDA—real or fake—but he finds himself wishing they had a reason to kiss again. He knows it’s not going to happen in private, but he might be willing to tolerate the discomfort of doing it in public.

He rolls onto his back and sits up. He grabs his pillow and fits in between his back and the headboard, then picks his phone up off the bedside table. He has some googling to do.

_how do you know you’re in love_

The search yields mixed results. One site says Phil can’t be in love with Dan because he’s making everything all about himself and what he wants—which is to not lose Dan—and that wanting to be around him all the time is just infatuation. Another says wanting to be around Dan all the time and missing him is absolutely a sign he’s in love. One says being in love with someone makes interactions with them feel easy. Another says if everything is easy, it isn’t real love.

Phil is fairly certain he’s never been _in love_ with anyone before. But there are people he loves with his whole heart, such as his parents, brother, and closest friends. He knows that regardless of what any online article says about it. He cares about them and wants them to be happy and he misses them when he goes too long without seeing them. He knows what love is because he feels it.

But being _in love_ with someone seems to come with its own special set of criteria that apparently no one can agree on. Phil knows what he feels for Dan is unlike anything he’s felt for anyone he’s legitimately dated. But is it that elusive state of being: _in-love?_ Is it any kind of love at all?

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. He tries another search.

_how long does it take to fall in love_

The very first site he clicks on informs him there is no average time to fall in love. He doesn’t bother clicking any others. Nothing he’s read so far has been enlightening or comforting.

He’s so tired, but his brain won’t let him rest. He needs a distraction.

_animals in love_

He watches cute animal videos until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

*

The next day, Phil has no plans—work-related or otherwise. No Dan-plans. He could text him, but he decides not to. He doesn’t think he can be around Dan without saying or doing something he’ll regret.

Like, _hey, I think you’re a lovely person and also incredibly attractive._

Or, _hey, I’m still annoyed and upset that you didn’t tell me about the movie, and I’m not sure how much I can trust you now. but I still really, really like you. probably because I’m a complete and utter fool._

He rolls out of bed around 11am and shuffles into the bathroom. He splashes some water on his face but doesn’t bother brushing his teeth. All he wants is to curl up on the sofa with some coffee and a bowl of cereal.

He does just that, and once the caffeine has worked its magic, he decides to catch up on some emails he’s been putting off replying to.

His aunt wants to know if he can convince his famous boyfriend to post a pic on Instagram of him wearing one of her handmade hats. She doesn’t know that Dan’s not actually his boyfriend, because she doesn’t know what Phil does for a living. He thinks she’d still ask even if she did.

His landlord informs him that he’s going away to Tenerife for three weeks and that his brother-in-law will be filling in, and requests that he pay his rent for next month early to avoid any confusion or oversight.

A mysterious gentleman wants him to know that for five easy payments of £45, he can increase the length of his penis by at least 4 inches.

As he’s typing out some replies, another email comes through. He groans when he sees it’s his manager. He just wants one day of not thinking about anything to do with the agency and his job.

The subject line reads: IMPORTANT: meeting today

Really? Today? They couldn’t have planned this a little farther in advance?

_Phil,_

_Sorry for the short notice. Dan’s people have requested a meeting today with you regarding an event they’d like you to attend. We’ve scheduled it for 3 but I can push it back if need be. Let me know._

_Grace_

So not only does he have to go to a meeting, he has to go to a meeting with Dan. Anxiety starts to churn in his stomach. He doesn’t want to shower and get dressed and get on the tube. He doesn’t want to sit across from Dan in the conference room and be professional and impersonal. He wants to crawl back in bed and sleep and let his subconscious untangle the mess in his mind.

But he also doesn’t want to mess things up with Dan any further. He wishes the situation was different, but he’ll do what what’s necessary to stay in Dan’s orbit. He takes a deep breath and gets up off the sofa.

*

Phil sits with Grace in the conference room, waiting for Dan and his manager to arrive. It’s 3:10. They’re late. Phil bounces his leg up and down while he watches the clock on the wall.

“You’re shaking the whole table,” says Grace.

He flattens the soles of his shoes against the floor and presses down. All the nervous energy in his body threatens to lift him up out of his chair.

At 3:13 the door swings open and Dan walks in with his manager, Allison.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” she says. “Someone didn’t answer his phone when we called to tell him the car was outside.”

“Sorry,” says Dan, mostly toward Grace. He gives Phil a sheepish grin and Phil can’t help but smile back.

“Alright,” says Grace. “We’re all here now. Let’s discuss the retreat.”

The retreat, Phil soon finds out, is for “promising young stars under thirty” in the performing arts. It spans from this Thursday evening to Sunday, and features workshops, guest speakers, and “positive networking experiences.”

It’s being held an hour outside London, at some big hotel conference center Phil’s never heard of.

Phil can tell that Dan doesn’t want to go, judging by the pained looks he keeps shooting him across the table as Allison explains everything. She’s given both Phil and Grace a brochure about the retreat. Grace flips through it, nodding along while Allison speaks.

Phil is not a promising young star under thirty, of course. He’ll be going as Dan’s guest.

“Despite having already agreed to attend the retreat weeks ago, Dan suddenly decided he didn’t want to go and would only agree to if Phil came along. I contacted the people in charge and they said some people do bring their partners or spouses. Apparently there are a few events where a plus one is welcome. So our diva gets what he wants.”

Phil is trying really hard not to laugh. Dan’s face is red and he sinks down in his chair.

“That is if Phil agrees, of course. It’s this weekend and we’re giving very short notice.”

Everyone is looking at Phil. He has no intention of saying no, but if he was on the fence, one look at Dan’s desperate, pleading eyes would have swayed him.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll go.”

Dan closes his eyes and lets out a sigh of relief. Phil wants to tease him about it, but that will have to wait until the meeting is over.

They need to discuss travel plans and arrangements next. All the little logistical details that Phil would be obsessing over if this trip was his responsibility to plan. But it’s not. All he has to do is pack a suitcase and show up at the agency at the right time.

Everything has more or less been arranged already. Phil wonders what would have happened if he’d said no. Would Dan really have refused to go? Phil tunes out of the conversation happening between their managers. He imagines Dan at the retreat, standing awkwardly in a group of promising young stars positively networking. Then he’d go back to his room and lie around miserably with no one to talk to. Phil’s glad he’ll be joining Dan so that won’t happen.

Under the table, Dan’s foot finds Phil’s leg and runs up his shin. Phil jumps, startled by the sudden touch. Allison and Grace look at him.

“Alright, Phil?” says Grace.

Dan is staring at him with a perfectly innocent expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“We need to talk about the room arrangements next,” Allison continues. “We’ve only booked one room. Originally we did so because Dan was going alone, but even though Phil will be attending too, it would look a bit strange to book another room just for him, considering the nature of your relationship.”

Phil knows where this is going, but he doesn’t know how he feels about it.

“There’s only one bed, but there will be a sofa as well, if you two want to take turns with who sleeps where. If you absolutely need to have your own room, Phil, we can try to work something out, but what do you think?”

Phil looks at Dan. His face is blank. He must be okay with the idea of sharing a room with Phil, since he knew about it ahead of time. It’s just Phil who has to make a decision.

He shrugs. “I’m fine with it. No big deal.”

“Wonderful,” says Allison. There’s just a few more things I’d like to discuss, and then I think we can call it a day.”

Five minutes later, Phil’s preparing to follow Grace and Allison out the door when he notices Dan lingering by the table. He waits just outside until their managers have disappeared down the hall completely, and then slips back into the room and closes the door behind him.

“Hey,” he says, approaching the table. Dan sits back down, so he does the same.

“I’m sorry.”

“About the retreat? It’s fine. I really don’t mind at all.”

“No. About yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Phil watches as Dan chews at his cuticle. He knows Dan has more to say. He just has to be patient and wait for him to say it.

Dan sighs and lays his hands flat on the table, pushing himself back a bit in his chair.

“I should have told you about the movie. Well, I legally couldn’t, but still. I trust you enough to know you wouldn’t blab about it. That day I invited you over to eat cake? I was going to tell you then. I had the part; I signed the contract. But I chickened out.”

He lifts his hands and let’s his head drop into them, weight balanced on his elbows.

“I know it was really important that I didn’t lie to you, and I did by keeping this a secret. So, I’m really sorry.” He lifts his head again to look Phil in the eyes, letting his hands rest on the table again.

Dan’s apology is genuine. Phil can see it in his eyes; he can hear it in his voice. He slides his hand across the table and lays it over Dan’s, giving it a little reassuring squeeze before drawing back.

“It’s okay. Really. I understand why you couldn’t discuss it. And it’s not really my business anyway, you know? It’s all going to take place after we stop working together, anyway.”

Dan frowns. “Of course it’s your business. You’re my—”

The conference room door swings open and Phil’s heart leaps out of his chest. He twists around in his chair.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” asks David. He’s another manager at the agency. “I was told this room was free. I need to set up for a meeting with a potential new client.”

“No worries,” says Dan, standing up. “We were just leaving. Right, Phil?”

“Uh, right. All yours, David.” He stands up and follows Dan toward the door. David steps aside to let them through.

As they walk together down the hall toward the lifts, Phil tries to find an ending to Dan’s sentence. You’re my…what? What is he? 

They reach the lifts and Dan presses the button for down.

“Wanna grab lunch?” he asks.

“Lunch? Do you know how late it is?”

Dan scoffs. “Jeez, sorry Mr. Time. I woke up like two hours ago and haven’t eaten yet. I’m just trying to find a compromise between my breakfast and your dinner.”

“Alright. I am hungry. You’re paying.”

The lift doors open with a ding. 

“Of course I’m paying. I always do.”

Phil walks into the lift and turns around to face Dan. He sticks out his tongue.

“Yeah, but this time you’re _really_ going to pay. I’m going to order the most expensive thing I possibly can. Compensation for all the hardship you’ve been putting me through lately.”

“You want hardship? I can give you hardship,” says Dan, stepping closer as the lift doors close behind him.

Phil swallows. The lift starts to move. Dan’s still standing facing him, his back to the closed doors.

“It’s wrong to stand backward when you’re riding in a lift,” Phil says slowly. “Cursed, even.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he moves to the side and turns around, taking a few steps back until he’s leaving against the wall beside Phil.

Phil doesn’t trust himself to even look at Dan because he’s being bombarded with a number of rather improper fantasies—the kind that only a private ride in a lift can inspire. Phil fights the wild impulse to do something stupid all the way down.

*

Phil sits on a beige chair in the hotel lobby, staring at an abstract painting. The chair looked squishy and comfortable from afar, but in use it is quite the opposite. The seat has no give. It’s like he’s balanced on a slightly squashed orange.

The painting is huge and he’s trying to figure out if a few of the vibrant paint splotches were deliberately made to look like penises, or if his brain is just programmed to see them wherever he goes.

Dan sits in a chair beside him, brooding and hunched over his phone. They’re waiting to be told that their room is ready, along with quite a few other retreat goers loitering about the lobby. Dan suffered a minor crisis when he found out that they weren’t going to be able to hide away immediately.

“If any one of them even tries to make eye contact with me, I’m going to scream,” he had hissed, while Phil dragged him over to the unoccupied beige chairs. “I haven’t emotionally prepared myself for this shit yet.”

Phil has just about come to the conclusion that the artist of the painting he’s been staring at for five minutes knew exactly what they were doing, when a woman calls out, “Arnold? Your room is ready.”

He looks up and watches as a young man with a red backpack and matching luggage approaches the front desk, talks to the woman there, then heads off down the hall.

A few more people are called and then, finally, “Howell? Your room is ready.”

They stand up and grab their luggage, weaving through the thinning crowd to the front desk.

“You’re in room 318,” says the woman at the desk—Cathy, according to her name tag. “Here are your keycards.”

Dan makes no move to reach out for the keycards, so Phil takes them.

“Thank you, Cathy,” he says with a smile.

“You’re welcome, love.”

“Thank you,” Dan says quietly, before taking off at a brisk pace down the hall toward the lifts.

Phil catches up and watches as he presses the up button over and over.

“I don’t think that’s going to make it come faster,” he says gently. He can tell Dan is teetering on the edge of some kind of breakdown.

Dan glares at him. “So you’re a lift expert now?”

The lift arrives before Phil can think of anything to say to that. They ride up in silence and as soon as the doors open, Dan takes off down the hall. He comes to a halt in front of door 318, having to stop and wait for Phil to catch up with the keycards.

Phil inserts the card in the reader upside down and the little lights flash red. Dan groans and snatches the card out of his hand, inserting it properly. The lights flash green and Dan opens the door.

His mood brightens as soon as Phil shuts the door behind them.

“Sanctuary at last!” he cries, throwing his hands over his head before flopping backwards onto the bed.

Phil sits down on the little sofa. He can already tell it’s much too short for someone his or Dan’s size to comfortably sleep on.

Besides the double bed and sofa, the room contains two bedside tables with matching lamps, a television, microwave, mini fridge, and coffee maker. Phil gets up and goes to examine the little basket of instant coffee packets.

“What do you think ‘Sunrise Blend” tastes like?” he asks while reading the label on one of the packets.

“Sadness. But you’re a coffee pleb so I’m sure you’ll like it. As long as there’s sugar.”

“Lots of sugar,” Phil confirms, looking at the pile of little white packets printed with the hotel’s logo.

“At least one of us will survive the weekend,” Dan mutters.

Phil sighs and goes to sit down on the bed next to Dan.

“Are you okay?”

Dan looks up at him and shrugs as best he can while lying down.

“Yeah, I think so. But if you weren’t here I would definitely be crying by now. Like full-on lying down in the shower letting the rain wash away my tears.”

“Who lies down in the shower?”

“Depressed people, for one.”

Before Phil can process that and respond, Dan sits up abruptly.

“So, which side of the bed do you want?”

“What?”

“The bed,” Dan repeats, running his hand over the sheets. His fingers graze Phil’s. “What side do you want to sleep on? I don’t care.”

“We’re going to share?”

“Uh, yeah? Of course?” Dan places a hand on his shoulder and looks at him with exaggerated concern. “Please don’t tell me you were seriously entertaining the idea of one of us sleeping on _that.”_

Phil definitely didn’t want to sleep on the sofa, or subject Dan to it, but he hadn’t really thought through the alternative. It made perfect sense. It was a double bed. Why should one of them suffer when they could both be comfortable?

“No, I just didn’t know if you’d be okay with it. But yeah, we can share.”

Dan suddenly looks genuinely worried, and lets go of Phil’s shoulder.

“Are _you_ okay with it? It’s not like, against some rule or whatever, is it?”

Phil pats Dan’s hand reassuringly. Possibly also to reassure himself that he can totally handle close contact with Dan on a bed.

“No, I promise it’s completely fine.”

Dan flops back down. “Great. Now pick a side.”

Phil looks around the room, considering his options.

“Um, I guess the side closest to the bathroom, since I pee all the time.”

Dan gasps. “I would never have agreed to share if I knew you were a bedwetter.”

Phil smacks Dan’s chest. “I don’t wet the bed! I may just have to make a pilgrimage or two in the middle of the night.”

“Old age is truly terrifying.” Dan sits up again and swings his legs off the bed. “Good thing I’m a deep sleeper.” He gets up and walks over to his suitcase, dragging it around to his side of the bed.

Once the sleeping arrangements are sorted, Dan and Phil discuss whether they should attend the “Welcome Dinner” taking place downstairs. They both agree that sounds like a terrible idea, as does leaving the room for any reason that night. Instead they turn to the room service menu.

Everything goes smoothly for the rest of the evening. They eat on the sofa to avoid getting crumbs in the bed. Then it’s time for nightly rituals. Dan says he’s not tired, but he’ll probably sit in bed on his laptop for a while. Phil is strangely exhausted.

Contacts are removed, teeth are brushed, and pajamas are donned. Fatigue is the only thing keeping Phil from properly freaking out as he slides in under unfamiliar sheets next to Dan. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table. He squishes his face into the pillow and shifts around, searching for a comfortable sleeping position.

“I’m going to turn off the lights, okay?” Dan says.

Phil nods against his pillow. He already has his eyes closed.

“Will the light from my laptop bother you?”

“Nah.”

Normally it might, but Phil’s tired enough that he could sleep in a room with all the lights on. It’s nice to have someone beside him. He hasn’t shared a bed with anyone since...he can’t remember. There’s comfort in being able to sense the presence of another body so close, even if they aren’t actually touching. As much as Phil loves having a bed all to himself to starfish on, he likes this too.

He falls asleep.

*

“il…Phil…Phil, come on…”

He’s so comfortable. He’s with someone…someone warm and broad…

Phil’s eyes flutter open, and meet Dan’s. Dan who’s on his back, looking down at him. Phil’s looking at the underside of his chin. It’s a confusing angle and he can’t quite figure out what’s happening.

“Mate, are you awake? I’m gonna wet the bed.”

Everything comes together and he realizes where he is. In bed, with Dan. In bed on Dan, more like. Somehow, in the night, he’s managed to sprawl across the bed, his head and half his torso lying over Dan.

Phil sits up and throws himself back. “Sorry!”

Phil’s mortified, but Dan’s just laughing.

“When I first started waking up I thought you were my childhood dog. He used to lie on my chest like that. Imagine my disappointment once I realized it was you.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” He squints to see Dan’s face better.

“I tried! I was poking you for a like, a solid two minutes. You just kept sleeping, while I was slowly dying beneath you…”

Phil grabs his pillow and tries to smack Dan in the face with it. He dodges and rolls out of the bed.

“Sorry, dear. We can play later. My bladder is about to explode.”

He scurries to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

Phil lies back down and stares up at the ceiling. A minute passes and he hears the sound of the shower. That’s pretty rude of Dan. What if Phil needed to use the bathroom, too? He’s suddenly exceptionally grumpy.

He rolls onto his stomach and sighs into the mattress. He feels drained. His throat is sore and he can feel the beginning of a headache coming on.

His heart beats fast as he thinks about his face lying on Dan’s chest. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the next two nights sharing a bed with Dan. Maybe he should brave the sofa tonight, his spine be damned. Maybe he should make up some excuse to get himself out of there and into another room.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay with Dan. He wants to spend as much time with him as possible. Even if he is an asshole who starts taking a shower without warning his roommate ahead of time.

Phil rolls over and props himself up a bit against the headboard. He puts on his glasses, grabs his phone, and searches for some funny videos to distract him from his Dan dilemma.

He’s half asleep again by the time the bathroom door opens with a click, waking him up.

Dan steps out. He’s only got a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls are dark and wet and drops of water are running down his neck and chest. Thankfully he’s not looking at Phil, so he doesn’t see him openly gaping. Phil manages to compose his expression before Dan looks up and they make eye contact.

“You’re getting water all over the floor,” he says. He’s impressed with his own ability to sound nonchalant even while his mind is reeling.

“Chill. I just need to grab some clothes.”

Phil nods and looks away. He picks his phone up off his lap, unlocks it and focuses intensely on nothing.

They’re just two guys in a hotel room. One of them has his shirt off, sure. But there’s nothing suggestive about it. Men literally take their shirts off around each other and every living creature on the planet all the time. Phil is making something out of nothing.

Of course it isn’t just the lack of shirt. It’s also the undeniable knowledge that a thin towel is the only thing keeping Phil from seeing Dan completely naked. He puts his phone aside, takes off his glasses and rolls onto his side, away from Dan. He can hear him rummaging around in his suitcase. And then the bathroom door clicks shut again. Phil waits a few minutes before sitting up again and returning to phone distraction.

When Dan reemerges he’s fully dressed in a long grey plaid button-up and his ripped black skinny jeans.

“Does my hair look okay?”

“Your curls look very dynamic.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“They look good.”

As part of the retreat, Dan has several events to attend. Unlike the dinner last night, Phil is not welcome at any of them, so Dan must brave the day alone. He says he’s going to try and sneak away so they can have lunch together, at least.

Phil had originally planned to maybe go for a walk around the hotel grounds today, or visit the pool. But now he thinks he might just stay in bed taking advantage of the free wi-fi.

After Dan leaves, grumbling and protesting even as he closes the door behind himself, Phil decides he should at least get dressed, in case he does leave the room later. He should do something about breakfast, too. But he’s not hungry. He’s just tired. Maybe a shower will perk him up.

The shower doesn’t help. If anything, it makes him sleepy. All that hot water softens him up and turns his muscles to jelly. He looks at his clothes piled on the counter and he just doesn’t have the energy to pull them on his body. He slips back into his comfy, loose pajamas instead.

He gets in bed and watches slime videos on his phone until he falls asleep again.

*

He wakes with a start, hours later, to the sound of someone pounding on the door. He gets out of bed and goes to look through the peephole.

It’s Dan. He opens the door.

“Forgot my key,” he explains, striding into the room and sinking down onto the sofa. He drops a paper bag onto the table in front of it.

Phil sits down next to him. “So, how was it?”

“Traumatizing. Have you eaten lunch yet?”

“No.”

“Good. I grabbed some of the free food for us and made a run for it.”

He leans forward and rummages through the bag, pulling out four cling film wrapped sandwiches, and two little bags of crisps.

“I dunno what all these are,” he says, handing Phil one of the sandwiches. “I had to make a quick getaway before anyone invited me to sit with them.”

Phil unwraps his sandwich slowly. Every action is tiring. It looks like some kind of chicken or turkey. He opens the sandwich up a bit to remove a thin slice of cheese.

Dan rambles about the many trials he endured this morning while they eat. Phil’s nose is somewhat stuffed up and he can barely taste his sandwich, but he’s happy to have Dan back.

“There’s just so much potential here being tossed away, you know? They could have actually invited unique, diverse speakers but instead they have some crusty old misogynist filmmaker lecturing us on the importance of connecting to the universal allegory in our work or some bullshit. And the getting to know each other shit was agony.”

Phil doesn’t contribute anything to the conversation beside noises of agreement or sympathy.

“After this I have to go to a workshop on ‘Finding your Individual Expressive Soul” and I might just die. That’s my individual expressive soul. It’s dying.”

When they finish eating, Dan reluctantly leaves to go find his soul, and Phil is alone again. He turns on the TV and flips aimlessly through the channels, eventually landing on program about dolphins.

He sticks to the sofa until Dan returns again, only getting up a few times to use the bathroom. Dan returns filled with just as much discontent as earlier, but more subdued. He sits on the sofa beside Phil and they watch TV together.

All of Phil’s muscles ache like he’s been exercising—which he never does—even though he’s just been sitting around all day.

Dan slumps so much on the sofa that his ass is almost hanging off, his feet resting on the table. One wrong move and he’d probably slide to the floor.

“I’m tired,” says Phil. His voice sounds embarrassingly whiny to his ears, like a toddler in desperate need of a nap.

“Go to bed then.”

“Don’t want to.” Now he really sounds like a child.

“At least lie down then,” says Dan, putting an arm around his shoulders.

Phil lets himself be guided downward, till his head is resting on Dan’s stomach. Since the sofa isn’t long enough for him to stretch out his legs, he keeps them tucked up by his body. It’s comforting to be so close to Dan. He doesn’t feel any of the embarrassment he experienced when he woke up on top of him in the morning.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re like, really comfy?”

Dan snorts, bouncing Phil’s head on his stomach.

“No, I can’t say they have.”

“You’re like…a mattress. Perfect mix of soft and firm,” Phil mutters.

Everything feel hazy and hot and he can’t be bothered to think about his words before he says them.

Dan laughs again, harder this time, and the way his shaking body nearly bounces Phil off him sets Phil laughing too.

“If I’m a mattress,” Dan says, once he’s composed himself, “you’re like one of those—shit, what are they called? Heavy quilts?”

Gears turn slowly in Phil’s head. “Do you mean a mattress?”

Dan laughs so hard he shrieks, and Phil has to sit up to keep from being thrown off the sofa.

“No, you spoon! We’ve already established that I’m the mattress!”

“Okay, okay, leave me alone…you fork,” Phil whines, pressing his forehead into Dan’s shoulder. He shivers, despite how warm he feels sitting right up next to Dan.

“I know! It’s a weighted blanket. That’s what you are. You make me feel less anxious, but I also feel like you’re going to crush me to death in my sleep.”

Phil’s heart rate picks up. He shivers again despite the fact that his whole body is sauna-hot. _You make me feel less anxious._ He lifts his head to look at Dan, and suddenly everything is spinning. His ears ring and he can feel the blood rushing from his head.

“Phil? Phil, are you okay? Phil?”

Everything goes black in an instant.

When he opens his eyes, he’s lying flat on his back on the sofa, Dan’s face filling his field of vision. He blinks and his eyes sting.

“Hey, Phil.”

There’s something cool on his forehead. It feels good. He reaches up, his hand moving slowly like it’s pushing through mud instead of air, and runs his fingers over the wet flannel there.

The last thing he remembers is darkness. “Did the power go out?”

“No,” Dan says softly, laying his hand over Phil’s where it still rests on his forehead. “I think you passed out from a fever. You were burning up, Phil.”

“Long’s it been?”

“Like two minutes, tops? It seemed like you were listening when I was talking to you but I don’t know if you actually were.”

“Probably not.”

“Try and sit up. I’m gonna bring some tablets and a glass of water.”

Phil struggles to sit upright. His throat is painfully dry and sore, and the room still spins a bit, though not as badly as before. The flannel slides off his face and lands in his lap.

Dan returns with the water and ibuprofen. Phil accepts the glass gratefully, taking long, deep gulps until Dan tells him to stop before he makes himself sick. He accepts the little pills Dan drops into his palm with less excitement. They seem to stick in his throat as he swallows them, and he feels the lingering ghost of their presence even after he knows they’ve dropped into his stomach.

Dan lifts Phil’s legs and sits on the sofa, laying them back down across his lap.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“Didn’t know. I thought I was just tired and…”

He almost says happy, even though he knows that makes no sense. Happiness didn’t make him feel ill; rather, it just masked it. He ignored what his body was telling him because being so close to Dan was a dizzying, lovely thing. He just wanted to stay by him, bodies touching, conversation flowing soft and sweet.

His heart beats heavy again and he swallows around a lump in his throat. He’s so far gone. He loves Dan. It’s too much and he doesn’t know what to do because he can’t stop the feeling but he knows he has to. Because…because…

Phil starts crying, frustration and fever overwhelming him. And then Dan’s arms are around him, pulling him in close, and he cries even harder. He’s making a mess of Dan’s shirt, face pressed against it, hands that want to cling to it balled up into fists instead.

Dan must think Phil’s crying just because he’s delirious and ill, because he doesn’t say anything, just rubs Phil’s back and rocks him gently. Or he’s just too nice to bother Phil with questions when he’s upset. God, Dan is so nice. So good. Phil sobs.

“It’s okay,” Dan whispers into Phil’s hair.

“I’m so sorry,” Phil says, his voice breaking high.

Dan doesn’t ask him what he’s sorry about. He just keeps holding Phil until his chest stops heaving and his tears have all dried up.

“Let’s get you to a real mattress, yeah?”

Dan let’s go and stands up, and when he offers Phil his hand, Phil takes it. He wobbles when he walks, and Dan steadies him with a hand on his waist.

He crawls into bed and shivers. Dan pulls the sheets and duvet up over him. He turns down the volume of the TV and then sits down on his side of the bed.

The soft murmur of indistinct voices is soothing. Phil lies awake for some time, just trying to clear his mind. There’s nothing he can do about his feelings for Dan right now. And when he’s well again it might not seem so daunting an issue.

The last thing he feels before he starts to drift off is Dan’s hand pushing his hair off his forehead.

*

Phil sleeps like the dead through the night and wakes in the late morning. He’s alone in bed and doesn’t remember Dan leaving.

He fumbles for his glasses and puts them on. There’s a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the bedside table. Dan must have put them there. He’s left a note too. _I’m off doing boring shit. Get some rest._

Phil drinks most of the water and takes one of the tablets. He gets up to pee, walking on shaky legs to the bathroom. By the time he makes it back to the bed, he’s exhausted. He decides to take Dan’s advice and go back to sleep.

When he wakes again in the afternoon, he feels much better. He has to blow his nose about a dozen times, but he doesn’t have a trace of a fever. He’s well enough that he decides to risk getting out of bed, showering, and getting dressed.

He styles his quiff but decides to forego contacts. He picks up his phone off the bedside table and sees that Dan texted him while he was getting ready.

_soz cant come back for lunch. see u tonight_

Phil is hungry. He’s also feeling rather cooped up from spending all his time in one room since arriving at the hotel on Thursday night. He could order room service, but that would only solve one of his problems. There must be somewhere to get food not too far off the hotel grounds. He just needs to sneak out of the hotel without running into any retreat attendees. And not faint on his way to or from his unknown destination.

He takes another ibuprofen for good measure, puts on his shoes, and grabs his coat, phone, and wallet.

He makes it down to the lobby and out the front doors without incident. There are some other guests wandering about the halls, but everyone at the retreat is tucked away elsewhere.

The air is crisp and refreshing. It’s also just chilly enough that he has to keep up a brisk pace to keep from getting cold. By the time he exits the hotel’s carpark and hits the street, he’s quite fatigued. He stops at the first food establishment he comes across, a little fish and chips shop with a lopsided red and white striped awning over the door.

He orders the smallest portion and sits at a counter facing out the front window. The greasy food turns his stomach a bit, but he’s so glad to be eating something. He hasn’t eaten anything since the sandwiches Dan brought the day before. 

He wishes he was eating with Dan. He knows he made a fool of himself the night before, sobbing like a baby, but making a fool of himself in front of Dan isn’t so bad. And Dan doesn’t know what Phil was really thinking. He doesn’t know how Phil feels about him.

He finishes his meal and rests for a bit before tackling the journey back.

*

The rest of the day is uneventful. He stays in the room, answering some emails and generally wasting time on the internet. Dan returns in the evening with some food from the hotel kitchen. They eat on the sofa and then Dan moves closer to Phil and rests his head on his shoulder. Phil does his best not to freak out and to carry on a conversation. Close contact like that with Dan wouldn’t have fazed him so much before. They hugged nearly every time they saw each other and lounged around leaning against one another. But as his awareness of his feelings for Dan grows, the significance of every touch is magnified.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” says Dan. Phil can feel his jaw moving against his shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I felt bad leaving you alone this morning, but I figured there’s not much I could do to help anyway.”

“And you wouldn’t want to miss all the fun activities.”

“Of course.”

When they go to bed Phil forces himself to relax and just enjoy the continued closeness. He has no way of knowing what might happen once they leave this place, but for now they’re in a little bubble where it’s perfectly natural for their feet to push against each other’s legs as they shift around to get comfortable. And when Phil wakes up in the middle of the night and has to carefully extract himself from under Dan’s arm to go to the bathroom—that’s fine too. In this transitory space every touch is permitted.

*

Phil stares at himself in the mirror, trying to decide if his quiff is too high.

It’s a little late now. He steps back and examines the rest of his appearance. He buttons his suit jacket and smooth his hands down over it. It’s black with subtle shimmering gold threads sewn into the fabric. His cream-colored shirt has an all-over print of tiny golden deer.

He’s going to the end of retreat gala with Dan—finally another event Phil is welcome to attend. He’s not sure how much he wants to go, but the promise of good food and maybe a little fun has swayed him. Dan probably wants to go less than him, but he doesn’t put up much of a fuss. It’s the last event, and then a car is going to pick them up and whisk them back to London to sleep in their own beds.

Beds. Plural. Phil sighs and straightens his tie. His look is as good as it’s going to get. He needs to vacate the bathroom so Dan can get dressed. His suit is hidden away in its own garment bag hanging on the back of the door.

He steps out into the room. Dan is sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting.

“It’s about time you…oh.”

Dan looks him up and down, eyes wide, his gaze lingering on his body.

“Wow, you look…”

He seems to be at a loss for words. Phil waits, embarrassed but a bit flattered.

“You look, uh…fashionable.”

“Thanks.”

Dan looks away and stands up quickly, walking past Phil into the bathroom.

“My turn to get all dolled up!” he sings, closing the door a little too hard.

Phil sits stiffly on the sofa while he waits for Dan. He doesn’t want to mess up his suit. He’s going to be performing the role of Dan Howell’s boyfriend tonight and he wants to look polished. Not like he’s been ill and stressed and tormented by his feelings for Dan.

Dan comes out of the bathroom.

“Ta-da!”

It’s Phil’s turn to gawk. Dan looks incredible in all black. The fabric of his suit is incredibly dark and rich, but when the light hits it, it has a faint silvery glow. His shirt is made of black lace, and Phil can’t help but think about what it would look like if he took his jacket off.

“Do I look presentable?”

He swallows and looks at Dan’s face. “Yes. Very fashionable.”

Dan smiles. The red patch on his cheek is noticeably vivid.

“Alright, we’re two fashionable lads. Let’s go.”

Phil has never been to the area of the hotel where the retreat has been taking place. They walk into the convention hall and it’s like they’ve entered another world.

Long tables line the walls, covered in food and drink. There’s a chocolate statue of a horse near the center of the room, surrounded by a display of glazed fruit. The space is lit low with soft golden lights.

They begin to circulate the room, making their way toward some food. People smile and wave at Dan as they pass, but no one stops them until they’ve almost reached a magnificent display of pastries.

“Dan!” a man in a grey velvet suit cries, stepping in front of him.

“Hello, Jason,” says Dan.

Dan’s voice is cheerful and his smile warm, but Phil can tell he’s faking it.

“I’m so glad you came.”

Phil might be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure Jason is checking Dan out. He decides he doesn’t like Jason. His voice is too loud and his teeth are too straight and his suit looks stupid.

“What do you think of the decorations? I’d say it’s a bit too school dance for my taste, but I am partial to a more modern—”

“Dan,” Phil interrupts, “I’m hungry.”

Jason takes notice of Phil for the first time. Apparently Phil has decided to play the rude, whiny boyfriend tonight. He’s probably never going to see any of these people again, so he doesn’t much care what they think.

Dan laughs and wraps his arm around Phil’s waist, pulling him closer. Jason frowns.

“Sorry, Jason. If my boyfriend doesn’t eat soon he’s going to get very angry. He’ll tear this place apart.”

“Ah. Right.”

Dan pats Jason on the shoulder with his free hand as they pass him.

“See ya, around, buddy.”

“More like see you never,” he whispers in Phil’s ear. When they’re fully out of earshot, he continues. “You just saved my life. Can you just follow me around wherever I go from now on, interrupting annoying people?”

“For a price.” He wishes it didn’t hurt to say that.

A waiter with a tray of champagne glasses passes by. Dan stops her and takes two.

He hands Phil a glass and says, “I’m afraid that was definitely not the last social interaction we’re going to suffer tonight. We’re gonna need this.”

They eat, drink, and walk around. There are no good corners to hide in, and they find it’s easier to avoid conversation by keeping on the move rather than standing in one place for too long. As far as the food is concerned, Phil is in heaven. The only disappointment is that the chocolate horse is apparently for display only.

Every time they come across a waiter with more champagne, Dan grabs a couple glasses. After his third glass, Phil stops keeping track. Being Dan’s tipsy boyfriend is fun. He can’t stop giggling at everything Dan says. They lean into one another, some part of them always touching.

People periodically stop Dan to talk. Phil can tell when Dan is searching for an out, and he always comes through with some complaint to end the conversation. _Dan, I’m hungry. Dan, my feet hurt. Dan, I’m bored._

“Sorry, lads!” Dan says to another scorned group. “My boyfriend is so needy. We’ll catch up later.” Dan plants a big kiss on Phil’s cheek and his heart flips in his chest. He grabs Phil’s hand and pulls him away.

They find an empty patch of wall near a door for the staff, and lean against it next to each other. Dan is still holding Phil’s hand.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he whispers in Phil’s ear, lips closer than strictly necessary. His breath is hot.

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. “Can we go?”

Dan looks around. The exit back to the main hotel area is on the opposite side of the room.

“This way,” he says, pulling Phil through the door next to them.

The hall is narrow and more brightly lit than the room they’ve just left. They pass a pair of swinging double doors that lead to the kitchen, and turn down another hall. Phil has no idea where they’re going.

Suddenly Dan stops and turns around. His eyes are dark and intense. Phil stands still, mesmerized as Dan moves closer. He can guess what’s about to happen as Dan’s face draws near his, but he doesn’t quite believe it until their lips meet.

Phil doesn’t care where they are or what they’re supposed to be to each other. He’s drunk on more than just the champagne. He pushes Dan against the wall and keeps kissing him like his life depends on it.

There are no complete, coherent thoughts. It’s just Dan. He shouldn’t be doing this. But it’s _Dan._ Why shouldn’t he? Because of all the people. And something else but who cares because he’s got Dan against the wall. And Dan’s breath in his ear and his mouth on Dan’s neck. It’s all Dan and nothing else matters.

His head is spinning. Dan says something and he doesn’t quite catch the words but the intonation has him sinking to his knees without a second thought.

He fumbles with the fly of Dan’s trousers. He can’t figure out how to undo it; there’s too many buttons—since when did trousers have so many buttons anyway?—and Dan’s hand gripping his hair isn’t helping matters.

“Oh my god!”

Dan let’s go of his hair and Phil whips his head around. Two women are standing in the hall—one barefoot in a sparkly silver dress, the other in a disheveled mustard yellow suit.

The woman in the dress giggles into her hands.

“Sorry!” says the woman in the suit. “Didn’t mean to interrupt! We’re looking for our friend.”

Phil shifts his position so he’s only on one knee, like he’s about to propose.

“Oh. I was just. Tying my shoe…” he says, fumbling for his laces.

Dan bursts into hyena laughter and slides down the wall, his feet kicking out to bracket Phil.

The women giggle some more and turn around, going back the way they came.

Phil is mortified. Dan is laughing so hard he’s crying.

“Tying…your shoes!” he manages to say.

Phil sits down fully and groans. He feels sick. He’s had too much to drink and it doesn’t feel good anymore.

“Fuck,” says Dan, his laughter finally dying. He starts struggling to stand up. “Still need to finish packing before the car comes.”

He braces himself against the wall and gestures for Phil to get up too.

“C’mon, Phil.”

Phil stands up as slowly as possible so he doesn’t fall or get sick. He doesn’t know what’s going on. It’s like a switch has been flipped and Dan is completely ignoring what just happened between them. And what almost happened between them. Dan’s suit is a rumpled mess and so is his hair. His lips are red and his face is splotchy.

Phil follows him back to the convention hall. No one tries to stop them as they make their way through the room. Or if they do, Phil doesn’t notice. Back out in the hotel lobby the light is so bright he can barely keep his eyes open. He squints at Dan’s back, trailing him to the lifts.

They don’t talk about it on the ride up. They don’t talk about it in the hall or in their room. They don’t talk about anything while they finish packing. Dan won’t look at him. Phil feels terrible. It’s not just the alcohol.

Dan lies face down on the floor.

“Wake me when the car’s here.”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He goes into the bathroom and washes his face with cold water. He fills a glass and drinks it. He takes off his fancy clothes and changes into pajama bottoms and a hoodie. Then he sits down on the cool tiles and checks his phone. The car should be arriving to take them home in about two hours. Two hours. He’s relieved he won’t have to spend another night in bed with Dan, but two hours in a hotel room with him right now seems almost unbearable too.

He leaves the bathroom and climbs onto the bed, lying on top of the duvet. Dan doesn’t say anything. He just stays on the floor. After about thirty minutes, which Phil spends curled up tightly, afraid to move, Dan stands up and goes into the bathroom. Phil listens to the shower running and wills himself not to cry.

He needs to talk to someone, but who? He’s really fucked up this time.

He texts Aisling.

_just almost broke The Rule_

Her reply comes quickly.

_shit phil what happened. you didn’t actually right?_

_no we were kissing but i could’ve. i wanted to_

_are you still with him?_

_yeah not for long tho going home soon_

_good. keep it in your pants ok_

He doesn’t stray from his spot on the bed. Dan leaves the bathroom and moves about the room, but Phil ignores him. He doesn’t know what to say. Dan avoids Phil and the bed, going to sit down on the sofa instead. He’s probably on his phone.

After a painfully long stretch of time, Dan finally speaks. “Just got a text. The car’s here.”

Phil focuses on his feet in the lift, not daring to look at Dan. He tries not to think about how far apart they’re standing and how awful that is.

On the ride home he pretends to sleep.

*

Phil spends most of the next day nursing a hangover and a heavy heart. He wants to text Dan, but he has no idea what to say. He wouldn’t regret what had happened the night before if Dan hadn’t made it so obvious that he did. Maybe he should apologize. Or he could wait for Dan to contact him first.

Aisling texts him for an update and he assures her that he didn’t do anything else.

He doesn’t want to keep wallowing and thinking about Dan. He needs to get out of his flat and out of his head. He could go visit Brenna and Wendy. Spending time with them will be a good distraction. He texts Wendy.

_hey can I come over tonight? I’ll pick up food_

_yeah of course! is everything alright?_

_yay :) I’m good. just got back from that work trip and I miss you guys_

_we miss you too! brenna says she wants chinese_

_lol ok_

A few hours later, Phil is sitting between two of his favorite people in the world, eating copious amounts of noodles and watching _Jurassic Park._

Wendy swoons over Laura Dern while Brenna complains about the unrealistic dinosaurs. They all hold hands and pretend to be scared whenever the raptors are terrorizing someone.

He’s able to keep most thoughts of Dan at bay. But not all. When he catches Brenna and Wendy looking at each other lovingly, it stings just a bit. Later he makes a joke and then realizes it’s something Dan said when they watched _Jurassic Park_ together, and that hurts too. But he laughs a lot and he feels loved. His friendship with Brenna and Wendy is a sure, steady thing. He knows where he stands with them, and that certainty is the exact comfort he needs right now.

*

The next day, Phil drafts and deletes dozens of texts to Dan.

Dan hasn’t updated any of his social media accounts. He hasn’t even liked anything on Twitter or Instagram, so there’s nothing for Phil to decipher in an attempt to gain some insight into his current mindset.

Phil goes to their café, hoping serendipity will lead Dan to him if he waits long enough. He orders a dark chocolate cherry cocoa and broods in a corner. He wonders if someone will recognize him and blab online about seeing Dan Howell’s boyfriend sitting alone in a café looking miserable. He starts fretting over hypothetical breakup rumors and decides to leave before his mood worsens.

Back in his flat, he watches some of his comfort-episodes of _Buffy._ He calls his mum and they talk for an hour. Mostly she talks and he listens, letting her voice soothe him.

He’s feeling okay, but then he goes to bed. He’s trying to sleep, but all he can think about is Dan. He wants to see him. Is he okay? Is he freaking out? Is he upset? Does he never want to speak to Phil again, or is he waiting for him to reach out?

Dan’s silence may have absolutely nothing to do with Phil at all. He’s probably mentally exhausted from all the socializing he did the past few days. Phil’s making it all about himself when it might have nothing to do with him. If he wants to talk to Dan, he should be mature and contact him.

Tomorrow. It’s late and he needs to sleep. But tomorrow, he’ll reach out to Dan.

*

It’s around 2 pm the next day when Phil finally works up the courage to text Dan. He sends him a funny image of a dog. He’s sure Dan will like it.

He waits for Dan to respond. Five minutes—nothing. Ten minutes—nothing.

Finally, exactly twenty-three minutes later, he receives a reply.

_lol_

He stares at those three inscrutable letters and can’t think of a single thing to say in response.

He doesn’t know what to do. This was supposed to be just another assignment, and now an _lol_ is making him distraught. How the fuck did he get here? How does he go back?

He calls Aisling. She’s in the same line of work and she’s the only one who knows anything about the mess he’s gotten himself into. She picks up on the fourth ring.

“Philbert. Hello.”

“Hi, Aisling. I need advice.”

“Advice from me? You must be really desperate.”

He decides to jump right in. There’s no use putting off the reason for his call.

“I think I’m in love with Dan and I don’t know what to do.”

He doesn’t think it—he _knows_ , but he’s not ready to say it with conviction.

There’s a long pause.

“Not my area, mate.”

“I want to tell him. But what if he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore?”

Aisling sighs.

“Listen, Phil. Everything you’ve told me about Dan leads me to believe that he wants _everything_ to do with you. Now, I don’t know if that’s in a purely platonic friendship way, or something else. But he did kiss you the other night. So I’m leaning toward something else.”

“We were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.”

“It meant something to you.”

Phil groans. “Yes, obviously, of course. But not to Dan! If anything he probably wishes it never happened. He was so weird after and he hasn’t contacted me since we got back.”

He doesn’t know why he’s so dead-set on arguing with her, when he called for advice.

“So what? I’ll bet you were weird with him too, right? Have you talked to him? God Phil, how do you expect to ever know what he’s really thinking if you don’t fucking ask him? This is the stupidest conversation of my life, I swear.”

Phil hangs up the phone and tossed it aside before she can say any more. He knows that on some level, Aisling’s right. She’s not being at all kind about it, but she’s right. He’s making assumptions about Dan’s feelings. He’s letting his fear color his interpretations of Dan’s actions.

His phone lights up with a call. It’s Aisling. He ignores it.

She starts texting him.

_sorry_  
i shouldnt have said that  
but i still think u need to talk to dan  
if it all goes tits up at least ur contract will end and you never have to see him again 

He doesn’t reply. He tries to think of who else he could call. He’d have to do so much explaining to anyone else. And even then, too many of his friends are settled in committed long-term relationships. His closest friends have their shit together as far as their personal lives are concerned. Wendy and Brenna got married last year. Patrick’s been with Audrey for almost five years. Why doesn’t he have any friends his age that are as lost as he is?

He’s had more fake romantic relationships than real ones. And all the real ones were so short-lived he’s not even sure they qualify as relationships. He knows how to play a part. He can mold himself to be what anyone wants. But what does he want?

He wants Dan.

So he texts him.

_I really need to talk to you privately, in person. can we meet up?_

He waits a minute, trying to decide if he should say anything else. Then, to his surprise, a reply from Dan comes through.

_i want to talk to you too but there’s something i need to finish taking care of first  
i’ll call you as soon as i can_

Dan’s reply makes him nervous but hopeful. He has no idea what Dan needs to do, but at least they’re going to talk. He may not like what Dan says to him, but he doesn’t want to deal with uncertainty anymore. 

He texts Aisling.

_I’m going to talk to him. wish me luck_

Phil doesn’t know how long it’ll be before Dan calls him. It could be an hour; it could be a week. He could ask, but he doesn’t want to be pushy. He’ll give Dan the time and space he needs. He trusts that when he’s ready, he’ll be true to his word.

Phil isn’t going to sit around waiting for a call. He’s restless suddenly. Nervous energy zaps through him and he craves fresh air. He decides to go for a walk.

He has no destination in mind; he just wants to move. He passes the café but doesn’t go inside. The sun is still bright but it’s chilly in the shade, so he crosses the street to where it’s warmer.

He’s still experiencing some lingering effects of his illness from last week, and he tires sooner than he might normally. He finds a bench and sits. Pigeons are walking about, heads bobbing, pecking at some seed another Londoner has left for them. They’re so fascinating. Sitting on a bench and watching them go about their birdy business fills him with a much needed sense of peace.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and his heart jumps. Is it Dan?

It’s not Dan; it’s his manager. He’s disappointed but also relieved.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Phil. Have you read the email I sent you?”

“Um, no. I haven’t. Sorry.”

“I see. I might as well just tell you now what it’s about. Then you can read it later for the finer details.”

“Okay.”

Something in the tone of Grace’s voice worries him. She sounds…disappointed? Is she disappointed in him? His heart drops. What if Dan reported his behavior to the agency? He had every right to, of course, but Phil never thought he would.

“Dan has opted to end his contract early. We received an email from his manager today. They’ve made a full payment. There’s some paperwork we still need them to sign to officially end the contract, but for all intents and purposes, it’s finished.”

Phil is falling piece by piece. His heart, his stomach, his lungs—all jumping ship. He thinks he might faint. Just fall face first off the bench, scaring away all the pigeons.

“Did….did he say why?” he hears himself say.

“No. The email alluded to ‘personal reasons’ but no specifics. There’s less than a month left on the contract anyway, so it must be something pressing. Did he say anything to you?”

“No…nothing.”

Grace sighs.

“Well, that’s that. We’ll see how he wants to handle revealing the news of your breakup, and when. Hopefully they’ll let us have some kind of input. Obviously your contract stipulates that there can’t be anything slanderous or damaging to your reputation in his remarks. And no word of the arrangement.”

The word “breakup” drives a spike through his heart. It’s not a real breakup because they were never actually dating, but it might as well be. Phil let their relationship go way beyond what it was supposed to be. He was reckless and foolish.

“Read the email, and if you have any questions, just let me know. You’re going to be a free man again, but this was a long assignment so I understand you might want to take a little break.”

“Yeah I’ll—I’ll let you know. Thanks, Grace.”

“Thanks, Phil. Bye.”

She hangs up and he slowly lowers his phone to his lap. He needs to get up and go home. But he can’t move. He feels removed from everything around him. The people, the pigeons, the buildings—they all fade away.

He stays on the bench for a while. He doesn’t know how long. He walks home. Into his building, up the endless stairs to his flat.

He doesn’t really know what he’s feeling. It’s a confusing emotion. Something has ended, but has it really? He’s still waiting on that call from Dan. Dan will explain everything.

He should make dinner. He opens his fridge and stares at the contents. There’s nothing particularly appealing there. He opens all the cupboards with food.

Toast. He wants some toast. He gets out the bread, butter, and marmalade. He’s going to comfort himself with a simple pleasure—some good, crunchy slices of toast.

He puts two slices of bread in the toaster and paces around the kitchen. His mind wanders just enough that he jumps when they pop up.

He spreads marmalade thick on one slice and takes a huge bite. It’s perfection. He’ll just spend the evening eating toast and forgetting his troubles.

His phone buzzes on the table. It’s Dan. He stares at it, toast still in hand, watching it vibrate. He puts down the toast, takes a deep breath, and answers the call.

“Phil?”

He hasn’t heard Dan’s voice since Sunday. It’s so good to hear it again.

“Hi, Dan.”

“Do you know what I did? About the contract?”

“Yes. My manager told me you ended it.”

This is it. Dan’s going to explain.

“Yeah. I had to. Because of the no-relationships clause.”

“Oh.” He didn’t expect that. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Because there’s someone I want to date. Like seriously, for real date, but I couldn’t as long as I was under contract.”

It’s like a punch to the gut.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Phil can practically hear the smile in Dan’s voice. And he must be a rotten person if that breaks his heart. He needs to pull himself together just long enough to get through the rest of this conversation. He calls upon his years of faking everything.

“Well, I’m…I’m happy for you. That you found someone. I hope everything is, um—”

“Phil.”

“Yes?”

“Please tell me you know who I’m talking about.”

He wracks his brain but can’t conjure up a single name or face. Phil has no idea how Dan’s managed to keep any new people in his life a secret. They’ve been spending so much time together. Honestly, Phil feels bad for whoever Dan’s been getting to know, because they probably haven’t been seeing much of him. Now that he’s free of Phil, that can all change. Unless…it’s someone from the retreat. That has to be it. Dan met someone there and they hit it off. But who? That annoying guy Jason? Dan didn’t seem to like him much. He didn’t seem to like anyone. It must be someone Phil didn’t meet.

“Phil? Are you still there?” Dan sounds nervous now, like maybe he regrets telling Phil anything. Phil can’t blame him.

“What? Yes! Sorry. I was just thinking. I don’t know who it is, but they’re very lucky to have you. You’re a great guy, Dan.”

His voice has started to wobble, pitching up in weird places. He needs to end this call. Now.

“Sorry, Dan. I—I have to go. I’ve got, um. A meeting.”

“What the fuck? Wait! Phil—”

He hangs up and turns his phone off. He puts his head down on the table and lets himself cry.

It’s not as heavy a sob as when he was sick and Dan held him in his arms. But it still shakes his shoulders and he lets out pained squeaks and gasps. The room grows completely dark and his toast gets cold.

When he runs out of tears and his breathing evens out, he sits up. His neck and arms are stiff, and his face stings from the salt.

He runs a bath. He makes the water as hot as he can stand it and throws in a bath bomb. A sweet aroma fills the room and he sinks slowly into the pearly pink water.

He lies there until the water cools to room temperature. When he gets out, he wraps himself in two of his fluffiest towels.

He passes the kitchen on the way to the lounge and grabs his phone from where it lies next to the plate of abandoned toast. He flops down on the sofa and turns the TV on to some random cooking show. He doesn’t care what it is; he just wants the background noise.

He turns his phone on. Maybe he’ll call a friend and see if they can distract him.

He has five texts from Dan.

He almost deletes them unread. He needs to slip back into his old life, pre-Dan, as soon as possible. He needs to move on and forget.

Maybe he’s moving just a bit too fast on that. He might as well see what Dan has to say. The first three messages were sent right after Phil hung up on him.

_it’s you phil_  
i’m talking about you ffs  
i thought you knew what i was getting at but clearly i misjudged that one 

The next two are from ten minutes after that.

_phil come on at least respond  
if you don’t feel the same you can just say it_

“Oh my _god,_ ” Phil says out loud, to his empty flat.

He rereads the messages four times, making sure he hasn’t misread anything or misunderstood.

_it’s you phil_

It’s him. It’s him!

Phil is the stupidest and luckiest man alive.

He sits up and jumps off the sofa so quickly his head spins and he nearly loses his towels. He needs to get dressed immediately. He needs to go see Dan. No, he needs to text him back first.

His fingers shake and hit the wrong letters, and he has to retype half the words before sends the message.

_..OMG. I’m sorry I had no idea what you were talking about D:_  
but !!!  
I need to see you right now pls 

Dan replies immediately.

_you’re a fucking buffoon. guess that’s my type now  
do you want to come to me or should i come to you?_

Phil has experienced too many different emotions today. He doesn’t care where he sees Dan; he just wants to see him soon. He gets an idea.

_meet me at tesco_

Phil runs to his bedroom, slipping slightly on the floor in the hall. He drops his towels and rummages through his drawers for socks and a clean pair of pants. He pulls back on his jeans and jumper from earlier in the day.

He rushes across the hall to the bathroom. His hair hangs limp over his forehead. He runs a bit of mousse through it to get it as close to a quiff as he can. It’s messy and it’ll deflate soon, but he doesn’t care.

Shoes. Coat. Phone. Wallet. Keys. He’s out the door, flying down the stairs faster than someone as clumsy as him should.

The lights inside Tesco glow like a friendly beacon as he approaches. He goes inside and texts Dan.

_I’m here. are you?_

_omw_

He makes his way to the bakery. He’s going to buy a celebratory cake for them. A cake that he’ll pay for, because Dan doesn’t have to pay for everything anymore. He looks at all the blank cakes in the display case. He’s going to wait for Dan so they can decide on the flavor together. And the message. Phil really wants to get something written on it to make it special.

“Boo.”

Dan says it so quietly that Phil barely jumps. He just turns around and smiles. Dan pulls him into a hug.

“I can’t believe you thought I was talking about someone else.”

“Well, you didn’t talk to me for days. I didn’t know what to think.”

Dan hugs him tighter.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Everything just seemed so complicated…”

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know what to say either.”

Dan releases him. he smiles. “I guess we’re both buffoons.”

“Without a doubt.”

They lean in toward each other again and kiss. It’s nothing like the experimental kiss on Dan’s sofa, or the sloppy, drunken kisses at the retreat. It’s perfect.

“I can’t believe we just had our first kiss in Tesco.”

Dan stares at him like he has three heads.

“What d’you mean, first? Do you have amnesia?”

Phil shakes his head.

“I remember. But none of that counts.” He’s not sure how to explain this. “I didn’t know how you felt. You didn’t know how I felt. They weren’t _ours.”_

“That makes zero sense, but I love you so it’s okay.”

Dan’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open, like he can’t believe what he’s just said. His face turns pink.

Phil reaches out and pats his cheek.

“As it turns out, I love you, too. We should celebrate.”

He gestures at all the cakes. “What’ll it be, Danny boy?”

They settle on a red velvet cake with white icing. Then they argue over who’s going to pay for it.

“Fine,” Dan relents. “You can pay, but I get to choose the writing. Give me the money and go stand over there.” He points to a display case of rolls away from the counter.

“Bossy,” says Phil, but he does as he’s told.

He wants to run up and down the aisles in circles like a puppy whose owners have come home after a holiday. He wants to whoop and yell. He’s positively vibrating with a feeling unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. He likes this feeling. He should probably calm down a bit, and he will in good time. But for now, he lets himself live in it, and it’s wonderful.

Dan comes over with the finished cake, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Ta-da!” he holds it out so Phil can read the writing through the clear plastic lid.

It’s very simple—just the letters _D + P_ with a heart drawn around them. It’s like a declaration of young love, carved into a tree or a desk.

He holds back a laugh. “Dan…that’s _so_ cheesy.”

“It’s supposed to be cheesy,” Dan huffs, pulling the cake back toward himself. “This is who I am, Phil. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.”

*

It’s too hot in Los Angeles. Phil can already feel his shirt starting to stick to his back. If he takes his suit jacket off, he’ll surely reveal some unpleasant stains.

He knows Dan’s suffering too; his curls are damp at the roots and frizzing in the heat.

At least the red carpet’s over with. Phil’s never seen so many cameras before in his life. The constant flashes coming from all directions were disorienting. He’s sure he’ll look terrified in all the photos—smile strained, eyes wide. Dan will look great. He’s much better at posing for photographs.

They go inside and make their way toward the theater where the film will be screened. The air conditioning is heavenly. He follows Dan through the crowd toward the front where their seats are.

“Hi, Dan!” says a woman whose seat is close to theirs.

Her name is Jessica, and she’s one of Dan’s co-stars in _The Road to Truth._ She plays Sophie.

“Hey, Jess.”

Jessica gestures to the older woman sitting next to her. “This is my mom, Gloria. Mom, this is Dan. He’s the star of the movie.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Gloria, looking Dan up and down. “You’re very handsome, aren’t you?”

Dan blushes, and Phil turns his face so Gloria and Jessica won’t see him struggling not to laugh.

Dan sits down and Phil follows suit.

Jessica leans forward to look past Dan and smiles at Phil.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your guest, Dan?” she teases.

She probably already knows who Phil is, unless she’s never been on the internet before. But it’s polite of her to ask.

Dan turns and smiles at Phil. His eyes travel his face, mapping out his features. He puts his arm around Phil’s shoulders.

“This is my boyfriend, Phil.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [ reblog/like on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/post/183638980125/the-last-act-of-the-show-t-word)


End file.
